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A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


THE  MACMILLAN  COMPANY 

NEW  YORK  • BOSTON  • CHICAGO 
ATLANTA  • SAN  FRANCISCO 

MACMILLAN  & CO.,  Limited 

LONDON  • BOMBAY  • CALCUTTA 
MELBOURNE 

THE  MACMILLAN  CO.  OF  CANADA,  Ltd. 

TORONTO 


She  did  not  dare  look  at  the  suffering  in  his  face  (See  page  146) 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


BY 

WINSTON  CHURCHILL 

AUTHOR  OF  “RICHARD  CARVEL,”  “THE  CRISIS,” 
“MR.  CREWE’S  CAREER,”  ETC. 


ILLUSTRATED  BY 
J.  H.  GARDNER  SOPER 


Neta  Jgcrfe 

THE  MACMILLAN  COMPANY 
1910 


All  rights  reserved 


Copyright,  1910, 

By  THE  MACMILLAN  COMPANY. 


Set  up  and  electrotyped.  Published  March,  19 10. 


Norbjoob  freest 

J.  S.  Cushing  Co.  — Berwick  & Smith  Co. 
Norwood,  Mass.,  U.S.A. 


CONTENTS 


BOOK  I 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.  What’s  in  Heredity? 1 

II.  Perdita  Recalled 8 

III.  Concerning  Providence 19 

IV.  Of  Temperament 32 

V.  In  which  Providence  keeps  Faith  ....  47 

VI.  Honor  a has  a Glimpse  of  the  World  ...  65 

VII.  The  Olympian  Order 81 

VIII.  A Chapter  of  Conquests 95 

IX.  In  which  the  Vicomte  continues  his  Studies  . 107 

X.  In  which  Honora  widens  her  Horizon  . . . 124 

XI.  What  might  have  Been 140 

XII.  Which  contains  a Surprise  for  Mrs.  Holt  . . 147 

BOOK  II 

I.  So  Long  as  ye  Both  shall  Live!  ....  155 

II.  “Stafford  Park” 166 

III.  The  Great  Unattached 173 

IV.  The  New  Doctrine 186 

V.  Quicksands 197 

VI.  Gad  and  Meni 209 

VII.  Of  Certain  Delicate  Matters 221 


VIII.  Of  Mental  Processes  — Feminine  and  Insoluble  . 234 

IX.  Introducing  a Revolutionizing  Vehicle  . . 247 

X.  On  the  Art  of  Lion  Taming 259 

XI.  Containing  Some  Revelations 281 


v 


vi 


CONTENTS 


BOOK  III 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.  Ascendi 289 

II.  The  Path  of  Philanthropy 300 

III.  Vjneland  . . 318 

IY.  The  Viking 330 

Y.  The  Survival  of  the  Fittest  ....  317 

YI.  Clio,  or  Thalia? 355 

VII.  “ Liberty,  and  the  Pursuit  of  Happiness  ” . . 370 

VIII.  In  which  the  Law  betrays  a Heart  . . . 382 

IX.  Wylie  Street 395 

X.  The  Price  of  Freedom 406 

XI.  In  which  it  is  All  done  over  Again  . . . 415 

XII.  The  Entrance  into  Eden 430 

XIII.  Of  the  World  beyond  the  Gates.  . . . 441 

XIY.  Containing  Philosophy  from  Mr.  Grainger  . 452 

XV.  The  Pillars  of  Society 464 

XVI.  In  which  a Mirror  is  held  Up  . . . .476 

XVII.  The  Renewal  of  an  Ancient  Hospitality  . . 487 

XVIII.  In  which  Mr.  Erwin  sees  Paris  ....  508 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


Honora 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


CHAPTER  I 
what’s  in  heredity? 

Honora  Leefingwell  is  the  original  name  of  our  hero- 
ine. She  was  born  in  the  last  quarter  of  the  Nineteenth 
Century,  at  Nice,  in  France,  and  she  spent  the  early  years 
of  her  life  in  St.  Louis,  a somewhat  conservative  old  city 
on  the  banks  of  the  Mississippi  River.  Her  father  was 
Randolph  Leffingwell,  and  he  died  in  the  early  flower  of 
his  manhood,  while  filling  with  a grace  that  many  re- 
member the  post  of  United  States  Consul  at  Nice.  As 
a linguist  he  was  a phenomenon,  and  his  photograph  in 
the  tortoise-shell  frame  proves  indubitably,  to  anyone 
acquainted  with  the  fashions  of  1870,  that  he  was  a master 
of  that  subtlest  of  all  arts,  dress.  He  had  gentle  blood  in 
his  veins,  which  came  from  Virginia  through  Kentucky  in 
a coach  and  six,  and  he  was  the  equal  in  appearance  and 
manners  of  any  duke  who  lingered  beside  classic  seas. 

Honora  has  often  pictured  tro  herself  a gay  villa  set 
high  above  the  curving  shore,  the  amethyst  depths  shad- 
ing into  emerald,  laced  with  milk-white  foam,  the  vivid 
colours  of  the  town,  the  gay  costumes  ; the  excursions, 
the  dinner-parties  presided  over  by  the  immaculate  young 
consul  in  three  languages,  and  the  guests  chosen  from  the 
haute  noblesse  of  Europe.  Such  was  the  vision  in  her 
youthful  mind,  added  to  by  degrees  as  she  grew  into 
young-ladyhood  and  surreptitiously  became  familiar  with 
the  writings  of  Ouida  and  the  Duchess,  and  other  litera- 
ture of  an  educating  cosmopolitan  nature. 
b 1 


2 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


Honora’s  biography  should  undoubtedly  contain  a sketch 
of  Mrs.  Randolph  Leffingwell.  Beauty  and  dash  and  a 
knowledge  of  how  to  seat  a table  seem  to  have  been 
the  lady’s  chief  characteristics ; the  only  daughter  of 
a carefully  dressed  and  carefully  preserved  widower,  — 
likewise  a linguist,  — whose  super-refined  tastes  and  the 

limited  straits  to  which 
he,  the  remaining  scion 
of  an  old  Southern  family, 
had  been  reduced  by  a 
gentlemanly  contempt 
for  money,  led  him  to 
choose  Paris  rather  than 
New  York  as  a place  of 
residence.  One  of  the 
occasional  and  carefully 
planned  trips  to  the  Ri- 
viera proved  fatal  to  the 
beautiful  but  reckless' 
Myrtle  Allison.  She, 
who  might  have  chosen 
counts  or  dukes  from  the 
Tagus  to  the  Danube,  or 
even  crossed  the  Chan- 
nel, took  the  dashing  but 
impecunious  American 
consul,  with  a faith  in  his  future  that  wTas  sublime. 
Without  going  over  too  carefully  the  upward  path  which 
led  to  the  post  of  their  country’s  representative  at  the 
court  of  St.  James,  neither  had  the  slightest  doubt  that 
Randolph  Leffingwell  would  tread  it. 

It  is  needless  to  dwell  upon  the  chagrin  of  Honora’s 
maternal  grandfather,  Howard  Allison,  Esquire,  over  this 
turn  of  affairs,  this  unexpected  bouleversement,  as  he  spoke 
of  it  in  private  to  his  friends  in  his  Parisian  club.  For 
many  years  he  had  watched  the  personal  attractions  of 
his  daughter  grow,  and  a brougham  and  certain  other 
delights  not  to  be  mentioned  had  gradually  become,  in 
his  mind,  synonymous  with  old  age.  The  brougham 


WHAT'S  IN  HEREDITY 


3 


would  have  on  its  panels  the  Allison  crest,  and  his 
distinguished  (and  titled)  son-in-law  would  drop  in 
occasionally  at  the  little  apartment  on  the  Boulevard 
Haussmann.  Alas,  for  visions,  for  legitimate  hopes  shat- 
tered forever  ! On  the  day  that  Randolph  Leffingwell 
led  Miss  Allison  down  the  aisle  of  the  English  church  the 
vision  of  the  brougham  and  the  other  delights  faded. 
Howard  Allison  went  back  to  his  club. 

Three  years  later,  while  on  an  excursion  with  Sir 
Nicholas  Baker  and  a merry  party  on  the  Italian  side, 
the  horses  behind  which  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Leffingwell  were 
driving  with  their  host  ran  away,  and  in  the  flight 
managed  to  precipitate  the  vehicle,  and  themselves,  down 
the  side  of  one  of  the  numerous  deep  valleys  of  the 
streams  seeking  the  Mediterranean.  Thus,  by  a singular 
caprice  of  destiny  Honora  was  deprived  of  both  her  par- 
ents at  a period  which  — some  chose  to  believe  — was  the 
height  of  their  combined  glories.  Randolph  Leffingwell 
lived  long  enough  to  be  taken  back  to  Nice,  and  to  con- 
sign his  infant  daughter  and  sundry  other  unsolved  prob- 
lems to  his  brother  Tom. 

Brother  Tom  — or  Uncle  Tom,  as  we  must  call  him 
with  Honora  — cheerfully  accepted  the  charge.  For  his 
legacies  in  life  had  been  chiefly  blessings  in  disguise. 
He  was  paying  teller  of  the  Prairie  Bank,  and  the  ther- 
mometer registered  something  above  90°  Fahrenheit  on 
the  July  morning  when  he  stoo,d  behind  his  wicket  read- 
ing a letter  from  Howard  Allison,  Esquire,  relative  to  his 
niece.  Mr.  Leffingwell  was  at  this  period  of  his  life  forty- 
eight,  but  the  habit  he  had  acquired  of  assuming  respon- 
sibilities and  burdens  seemed  to  have  had  the  effect  of 
making  his  age  indefinite.  He  was  six  feet  tall,  broad- 
shouldered,  his  mustache  and  hair  already  turning  ; his 
eyebrows  were  a trifle  bushy,  and  his  eyes  reminded 
men  of  one  eternal  and  highly  prized  quality  — honesty. 
They  were  blue  grey.  Ordinarily  they  shed  a light 
which  sent  people  away  from  his  window  the  happier 
without  knowing  why  ; but  they  had  been  known,  on  rare 
occasions,  to  flash  on  dishonesty  and  fraud  like  the 


4 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


lightnings  of  the  Lord.  Mr.  Isham,  the  president  of  the 
bank,  coined  a phrase  about  him.  He  said  that  Thomas 
Leffingwell  was  constitutionally  honest. 

Although  he  had  not  risen  above  the  position  of  paying 
teller,  Thomas  Leffingwell  had  a unique  place  in  the 
city  of  his  birth  ; and  the  esteem  in  which  he  was  held  by 
capitalists  and  clerks  proves  that  character  counts  for 
something.  On  his  father’s  failure  and  death  he  had 
entered  the  Prairie  Bank,  at  eighteen,  and  never  left  it. 
If  he  had  owned  it,  he  could  not  have  been  treated  by  the 
customers  with  more  respect.  The  city,  save  for  a few 
notable  exceptions,  like  Mr.  Isham,  called  him  Mr.  Lef- 
fingwell, but  behind  his  back  often  spoke  of  him  as  Tom. 

On  the  particular  hot  morning  in  question,  as  he  stood 
in  his  seersucker  coat  reading  the  unquestionably  pom- 
pous letter  of  Mr.  Allison  announcing  that  his  niece  was 
on  the  high  seas,  he  returned  the  greetings  of  his  friends 
with  his  usual  kindness  and  cheer.  In  an  adjoining  com- 
partment a long-legged  boy  of  fourteen  was  busily  stamp- 
ing letters. 

“ Peter,”  said  Mr.  Leffingwell,  “ go  ask  Mr.  Isham  if  I 
may  see  him.” 

It  is  advisable  to  remember  the  boy’s  name.  It  was 
Peter  Erwin,  and  he  was  a favourite  in  the  bank,  where 
he  had  been  introduced  by  Mr.  Leffingwell  himself.  He 
was  an  orphan  and  lived  with  his  grandmother,  an  im- 
poverished old  lady  with  good  blood  in  her  veins  who 
boarded  in  Graham’s  Row,  on  Olive  Street.  Suffice  it  to 
add,  at  this  time,  that  he  worshipped  Mr.  Leffingwell, 
and  that  he  was  back  in  a twinkling  with  the  information 
that  Mr.  Isham  was  awaiting  him. 

The  president  was  seated  at  his  desk.  In  spite  of  the 
thermometer  he  gave  no  appearance  of  discomfort  in  his 
frock-coat.  He  had  scant,  sandy-grey  whiskers,  a tightly 
closed  and  smooth-shaven  upper  lip,  a nose  with  a decided 
ridge,  and  rather  small  but  penetrating  eyes  in  which  the 
blue  pigment  had  been  used  sparingly.  His  habitual  mode 
of  speech  was  both  brief  and  sharp,  but  people  remarked 
that  he  modified  it  a little  for  Tom  Leffingwell. 


WHAT’S  IN  HEREDITY 


5 


“ Come  in,  Tom,”  he  said.  “ Anything  the  matter  ? ” 

“Mr.  Isham,  I want  a week  off,  to  go  to  New  York.” 

The  request,  from  Tom  Leffingwell,  took  Mr.  I sham’s 
breath.  One  of  the  bank  president’s  characteristics  was 
an  extreme  interest  in  the  private  affairs  of  those  who 
came  within  his  zone  of  influence  — and  especially  wdien 
these  affairs  evinced  any  irregularity. 

“ Randolph  again  ? ” he  asked  quickly. 

Tom  walked  to  the  window,  and  stood  looking  out  into 
the  street.  His  voice  shook  as  he  answered  : — 

“ Ten  days  ago  I learned  that  my  brother  was  dead, 
Mr.  Isham.” 

The  president  glanced  at  the  broad  back  of  his  teller. 
Mr.  Isham’s  voice  was  firm,  his  face  certainly  betrayed 
no  feeling,  but  a flitting  gleam  of  satisfaction  might  have 
been  seen  in  his  eye. 

“Of  course,  Tom,  you  ma}7  go,”  he  answered. 

Thus  came  to  pass  an  event  in  the  lives  of  Uncle  Tom 
and  Aunt  Mary,  that  journey  to  New  York  (their  first) 
of  two  nights  and  two  days  to  fetch  Honora.  We  need 
not  dwell  upon  all  that  befell  them.  The  first  view  of 
the  Hudson,  the  first  whiff  of  the  salt  air  on  this  un- 
wonted holiday,  the  sights  of  this  crowded  city  of  wealth, 
— all  were  tempered  by  the  thought  of  the  child  coming 
into  their  lives.  They  were  standing  on  the  pier  when 
the  windows  were  crimson  in  the  early  light,  and  at  nine 
o’clock  on  that  summer’s  morning  the  Albania  was  docked, 
and  tne  passengers  came  crowding  down  the  gang-plank. 
Prosperous  tourists,  most  of  them,  with  servants  and  stew- 
ards carrying  bags  of  English  design  and  checked  steamer 
rugs  ; and  at  last  a ruddy-faced  bonne  with  streamers  and 
a bundle  of  ribbons  and  laces  — Honora — Honora,  aged 
eighteen  months,  gazing  at  a subjugated  world. 

“ What  a beautiful  child  ! ” exclaimed  a woman  on  the 
pier. 

Was  it  instinct  or  premonition  that  led  them  to  accost 
the  bonne  ? 

“ Oui,  Laffingwell  ! ” she  cried,  gazing  at  them  in 
some  perplexity.  Three  children  of  various  sizes  clung 


6 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


to  her  skirts,  and  a younger  nurse  carried  a golden-haired 
little  girl  of  Honora’s  age.  A lady  and  gentleman  followed. 
The  lady  was  beginning  to  look  matronly,  and  no  second 
glance  was  required  to  perceive  that  she  was  a person  of 
opinion  and  character.  Mr.  Holt  was  smaller  than  his 
wife,  neat  in  dress  and  unobtrusive  in  appearance.  In 
the  rich  Mrs.  Holt,  the  friend  of  the  Randolph  Leffing- 
wells,  Aunt  Mary  was  prepared  to  find  a more  vapidly 
fashionable  personage,  and  had  schooled  herself  forthwith. 

“ Y ou  are  Mrs.  Thomas  Leffingwell  ? ” she  asked.  “ W ell, 
I am  relieved.”  The  lady’s  eyes,  travelling  rapidly  over 
Aunt  Mary’s  sober  bonnet  and  brooch  and  gown,  made  it 
appear  that  these  features  in  Honora’s  future  guardian 
gave  her  the  relief  in  question.  “Honora,  this  is  your 
aunt.” 

Honora  smiled  from  amidst  the  laces,  and  Aunt  Mary, 
only  too  ready  to  capitulate,  surrendered.  She  held  out 
her  arms.  Tears  welled  up  in  the  Frenchwoman’s  eyes  as 
she  abandoned  her  charge. 

“ Pauvre  mignonne  ! ” she  cried. 

But  Mrs.  Holt  rebuked  the  nurse  sharply,  in  French, 

— a language  with  which  neither  Aunt  Mary  nor  Uncle 
Tom  was  familiar.  Fortunately,  perhaps.  Mrs.  Holt’s 
remark  was  to  the  effect  that  Honora  was  going  to  a 
sensible  home. 

“ Hortense  loves  her  better  than  my  own  children,” 
said  that  lady. 

Honora  seemed  quite  content  in  the  arms  of  Aunt 
Mary,  who  was  gazing  so  earnestly  into  the  child’s  face 
that  she  did  not  at  first  hear  Mrs.  Holt’s  invitation  to 
take  breakfast  with  them  on  Madison  Avenue,  and  then 
she  declined  politely.  While  crossing  on  the  steamer, 
Mrs.  Holt  had  decided  quite  clearly  in  her  mind  just 
what  she  was  going  to  say  to  the  child’s  future  guardian, 
but  there  was  something  in  Aunt  Mary’s  voice  and 
manner  which  made  these  remarks  seem  unnecessary 

— although  Mrs.  Holt  was  secretly  disappointed  not  to 
deliver  them. 

“It  was  fortunate  that  we  happened  to  be  in  Nice  at 


WHAT’S  IN  HEREDITY 


7 


the  time,”  she  said  with  the  evident  feeling  that  some 
explanation  was  due.  “ I did  not  know  poor  Mrs.  Ran- 
dolph Leffingwell  very  — very  intimately,  or  Mr.  Leffing- 
well.  It  was  such  a sudden — such  a terrible  affair.  But 
Mr.  Holt  and  I were  only  too  glad  to  do  what  we  could.” 

“We  feel  very  grateful  to  you,”  said  Aunt  Mary, 
quietly. 

Mrs.  Holt  looked  at  her  with  a still  more  distinct 
approval,  being  tolerably  sure  that  Mrs.  Thomas  Leffing- 
well understood.  She  had  cleared  her  skirts  of  any  pos- 
sible implication  of  intimacy  with  the  late  Mrs.  Randolph, 
and  done  so  with  a master  touch. 

In  the  meantime  Honora  had  passed  to  Uncle  Tom. 
After  securing  the  little  trunk,  and  settling  certain 
matters  with  Mr.  Holt,  they  said  good-by  to  her  late 
kind  protectors,  and  started  off  for  the  nearest  street-cars, 
Honora  pulling  Uncle  Tom’s  mustache.  More  than  one 
pedestrian  paused  to  look  back  at  the  tall  man  carrying 
the  beautiful  child,  bedecked  like  a young  princess,  and 
more  than  one  passenger  in  the  street  cars  smiled  at  them 
both. 


CHAPTER  II 


PERDITA  RECALLED 

Saint  Louis,  or  that  part  of  it  which  is  called  by 
dealers  in  real  estate  the  choice  residence  section,  grew 
westward.  And  Uncle  Tom  might  be  said  to  have  been 
in  the  vanguard  of  the  movement.  In  the  days  before 
Hou  ora  was  born  he  had  built  his  little  house  on  what 
had  been  a farm  on  the  Olive  Street  Road,  at  the  crest  of 
the  second  ridge  from  the  river.  Up  this  ridge,  with 
clanking  traces,  toiled  the  horse-cars  that  carried  Uncle 
Tom  downtown  to  the  bank  and  Aunt  Mary  to  market. 

Fleeing  westward,  likewise,  from  the  smoke,  friends  of 
Uncle  Tom’s  and  Aunt  Mary’s  gradually  surrounded 
them  — building,  as  a rule,  the  high  Victorian  mansions  in 
favour  at  that  period,  which  were  placed  in  the  centre  of 
commodious  yards.  For  the  friends  of  Uncle  Tom  and 
Aunt  Mary  were  for  the  most  part  rich,  and  belonged,  as 
did  they,  to  the  older  families  of  the  city.  Mr.  Dwyer’s 
house,  with  its  picture  gallery,  was  across  the  street. 

In  the  midst  of  such  imposing  company  the  little  dwell- 
ing which  became  the  home  of  our  heroine  sat  well  back 
in  a plot  that  might  almost  be  called  a garden.  In  summer 
its  white  wooden  front  was  nearly  hidden  by  the  quiver- 
ing leaves  of  two  tall  pear  trees.  On  the  other  side  of 
the  brick  walk,  and  near  the  iron  fence,  was  an  elm  and  a 
flower  bed  that  was  Uncle  Tom’s  pride  and  the  admiration 
of  the  neighbourhood.  Honora  has  but  to  shut  her  eyes  to 
see  it  aflame  with  tulips  at  Eastertide.  The  eastern  wall 
of  the  house  was  a mass  of  Virginia  creeper,  and  beneath 
that  another  flower  bed,  and  still  another  in  the  back-yard 
behind  the  lattice  fence  covered  with  cucumber  vine. 
There  were,  besides,  two  maples  and  two  apricot  trees, 

8 


PERDITA  RECALLED 


9 


relics  of  the  farm,  and  of  blessed  memory.  Such  apricots  ! 
Visions  of  hot  summer  evenings  come  back,  with  Uncle 
Tom,  in  his  seersucker  coat,  with  his  green  watering-pot, 
bending  over  the  beds,  and  Aunt  Mary  seated  upright  in 
her  chair,  looking  up  from  her  knitting  with  a loving  eye. 

Behind  the  lattice,  on  these  summer  evenings,  stands 
the  militant  figure  of  that  old  retainer,  Bridget  the  cook, 
her  stout  arms  akimbo,  ready  to  engage  in  vigorous  banter 
should  Honora  deign  to  approach. 

44  Whisht,  ’Nora  darlint,  it’s  a young  lady  ye’ll  be  soon, 
and  the  beaux  a-comin’  ’round  ! ” she  would  cry,  and  throw 
back  her  head  and  laugh  until  the  tears  were  in  her  eyes. 

And  the  princess,  a slim  figure  in  an  immaculate  linen 
frock  with  red  ribbons  which  Aunt  Mary  had  copied  from 
Longstreth’s  London  catalogue,  would  repty  with  dignity: 

“ Bridget,  I wish  you  would  try  to  remember  that  my 
name  is  Honora.” 

Another  spasm  of  laughter  from  Bridget. 

44  Listen  to  that  now  ! ” she  would  cry  to  another 
ancient  retainer,  Mary  Ann,  the  housemaid,  whose  kitchen 
chair  was  tilted  up  against  the  side  of  the  woodshed. 
44  It’ll  be  4 Miss  Honora  ’ next,  and  George  Hanbury  here 
to-day  with  his  eye  through  a knothole  in  the  fence,  out  of 
his  head  for  a sight  of  ye.” 

George  Hanbury  was  Honora’s  cousin,  and  she  did  not 
deem  his  admiration  a subject  fit  for  discussion  with 
Bridget. 

44  Sure,”  declared  Mary  Ann,  44  it’s  the  air  of  a princess 
the  child  has.” 

That  she  should  be  thought  a princess  did  not  appear 
at  all  remarkable  to  Honora  at  twelve  years  of  age. 
Perdita  may  have  had  such  dreams.  She  had  been  born, 
she  knew,  in  some  wondrous  land  by  the  shores  of  the 
summer  seas,  not  at  all  like  St.  Louis,  and  friends  and 
relatives  had  not  hesitated  to  remark  in  her  hearing  that 
she  resembled  her  father,  — that  handsome  father  who  surely 
must  have  been  a prince,  whose  before-mentional  photo- 
graph in  the  tortoise-shell  frame  was  on  the  bureau  in  her 
little  room.  So  far  as  Randolph  Leffingwell  was  con- 


10 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


cerned,  photography  had  not  been  invented  for  nothing. 
Other  records  of  him  remained  which  Honora  had  like- 
wise seen:  one  end  of  a rose-covered  villa  which  Ho- 
nora thought  was  a wing  of  his  palace  ; a coach  and 
four  he  was  driving,  and  which  had  chanced  to  belong 
to  an  Englishman,  although  the  photograph  gave  no  evi- 
dence of  this  ownership.  Neither  Aunt  Mary  nor  Uncle 
Tom  had  ever  sought  — for  reasons  perhaps  obvious 
— to  correct  the  child’s  impression  of  an  extraordinary 
paternity. 

Aunt  Mary  was  a Puritan  of  Southern  ancestry,  and 
her  father  had  been  a Presbyterian  minister.  Uncle  Tom 
was  a member  of  the  vestry  of  a church  still  under  Puri- 
tan influences.  As  a consequence  for  Honora,  there  were 
Sunday  afternoons  — periods  when  the  imaginative  fac- 
ulty, in  which  she  was  by  no  means  lacking,  was  given 
full  play.  She  would  sit  by  the  hour  in  the  swing  Uncle 
Tom  had  hung  for  her  under  the  maple  near  the  lattice, 
while  castles  rose  on  distant  heights  against  blue  skies. 
There  was  her  real  home,  in  a balconied  chamber  that 
overlooked  mile  upon  mile  of  rustling  forest  in  the 
valley;  and  when  the  wind  blew,  the  sound  of  it  was 
like  the  sea.  Honora  did  not  remember  the  sea,  but  its 
music  was  often  in  her  ears. 

She  would  be  aroused  from  these  dreams  of  greatness 
by  the  appearance  of  old  Catherine,  her  nurse,  on  the  side 
porch,  reminding  her  that  it  was  time  to  wash  for  supper. 
No  princess  could  have  had  a more  humble  tiring- woman 
than  Catherine. 

Honora  cannot  be  unduly  blamed.  When  she  reached 
the  “ little  house  under  the  hill  ” (as  Catherine  called 
the  chamber  beneath  the  eaves),  she  beheld  reflected  in 
the  mirror  an  image  like  a tall,  white  flower  that  might 
indeed  have  belonged  to  a princess.  Her  hair,  the  colour 
of  burnt  sienna,  fell  evenly  to  her  shoulders  ; her  features 
even  then  had  regularity  and  hauteur ; her  legs,  in  their 
black  silk  stockings,  were  straight;  and  the  simple  white 
lawn  frock  made  the  best  of  a slender  figure.  Those 
frocks  of  Honora’s  were  a continual  source  of  wonder  — 


PERDITA  RECALLED 


11 


and  sometimes  of  envy  — to  Aunt  Mary’s  friends  ; who 
returned  from  the  seaside  in  the  autumn,  after  a week 
among  the  fashions  in  Boston  or  New  York,  to  find  Ho- 
nora  in  the  latest  models,  and  better  dressed  than  their 
own  children.  Aunt  Mary  made  no  secret  of  the  methods 
by  which  these  seeming  miracles  were  performed,  and 
showed  Cousin  Eleanor  Hanbury  the  fashion  plates  in 
the  English  periodicals.  Cousin  Eleanor  sighed. 

“ Mary,  you  are  wonderful,”  she  would  say.  “ Honora’s 
clothes  are  better-looking  than  those  I buy  in  the  East,  at 
such  fabulous  prices,  from  Cavendish.” 

Indeed,  no  woman  was  ever  farther  removed  from  per- 
sonal vanity  than  Aunt  Mary.  She  looked  like  a little 
Quakeress.  Her  silvered  hair  was  parted  in  the  middle 
and  had,  in  spite  of  palpable  efforts  towards  tightness  and 
repression,  a perceptible  ripple  in  it.  Grey  was  her  only 
concession  to  colour,  and  her  gowns  and  bonnets  were  of 
a primness  which  belonged  to  the  past.  Repression,  or 
perhaps  compression,  was  her  note,  for  the  energy  confined 
within  her  little  body  was  a thing  to  have  astounded  scien- 
tists. And  Honora  grew  to  womanhood  and  reflection 
before  she  had  guessed  or  considered  that  her  aunt  was 
possessed  of  intense  emotions  which  had  no  outlet.  Her 
features  were  regular,  her  shy  eye  had  the  clearness  of  a 
forest  pool.  She  believed  in  predestination,  which  is  to 
say  that  she  was  a fatalist ; and  while  she  steadfastly 
continued  to  regard  this  world  as  a place  of  sorrow  and 
trials,  she  concerned  herself  very  little  about  her  partici- 
pation in  a future  life.  Old  Dr.  Ewing,  the  rector  of  St. 
Anne’s,  while  conceding  that  no  better  or  more  charitable 
woman  existed,  found  it  so  exceedingly  difficult  to  talk  to 
her  on  the  subject  of  religion  that  he  had  never  tried  it 
but  once. 

Such  was  Aunt  Mary.  The  true  student  of  human 
nature  should  not  find  it  surprising  that  she  spoiled 
Honora  and  strove  — at  what  secret  expense,  care,  and 
self-denial  to  Uncle  Tom  and  herself,  none  will  ever  know 
— to  adorn  the  child  that  she  might  appear  creditably 
among  companions  whose  parents  were  more  fortunate  in 


12 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


this  world’s  goods ; that  she  denied  herself  to  educate 
Honora  as  these  other  children  were  educated.  Nor  is  it 
astonishing  that  she  should  not  have  understood  the  highly 
complex  organism  of  the  young  lady  we  have  chosen  for 
our  heroine,  who  was  shaken,  at  the  age  of  thirteen,  by 
unfulfilled  longings. 

Very  early  in  life  Honora  learned  to  dread  the  summer, 
when  one  by  one  the  families  of  her  friends  departed  un- 
til the  city  itself  seemed  a remote  and  distant  place  from 
what  it  had  been  in  the  spring  and  winter.  The  great 
houses  were  closed  and  blinded,  and  in  the  evening  the 
servants  who  had  been  left  behind  chattered  on  the  front 
steps.  Honora  could  not  bear  the  sound  of  the  trains 
that  drifted  across  the  night,  and  the  sight  of  the  trunks 
piled  in  the  Hanburys’  hall,  in  Wayland  Square,  always 
filled  her  with  a sickening  longing.  Would  the  day  ever 
come  when  she,  too,  would  depart  for  the  bright  places  of 
the  earth?  Sometimes,  when  she  looked  in  the  mirror, 
she  was  filled  with  a fierce  belief  in  a destiny  to  sit  in  the 
high  seats,  to  receive  homage  and  dispense  bounties,  to 
discourse  with  great  intellects,  to  know  London  and 
Paris  and  the  marts  and  centres  of  the  world  as  her  father 
had.  To  escape — only  to  escape  from  the  prison  walls 
of  a humdrum  existence,  and  to  soar  ! 

Let  us,  if  we  can,  reconstruct  an  August  day  when  all 
(or  nearly  all)  of  Honora’s  small  friends  were  gone  east- 
ward to  the  mountains  or  the  seaside.  In  “ the  little  house 
under  the  hill,”  the  surface  of  which  was  a hot  slate  roof, 
Honora  would  awake  about  seven  o’clock  to  find  old 
Catherine  bending  over  her  in  a dun-coloured  calico 
dress,  with  the  light  fiercely  beating  against  the  closed 
shutters  that  braved  it  so  unflinchingly  throughout  the  day. 

“ The  birrds  are  before  ye,  Miss  Honora,  honey,  and 
your  uncle  waterin’  his  roses  this  half-hour.” 

Uncle  Tom  was  indeed  an  early  riser.  As  Honora 
dressed  (Catherine  assisting  as  at  a ceremony),  she 
could  see  him,  in  his  seersucker  coat,  bending  tenderly 
over  his  beds  ; he  lived  enveloped  in  a peace  which  has 
since  struck  wonder  to  Honora’s  soul.  She  lingered  in  her 


PERDITA  RECALLED 


13 


dressing,  even  in  those  days,  falling  into  reveries  from 
which  Catherine  gently  and  deferentially  aroused  her  ; 
and  Uncle  Tom  would  be  carving  the  beefsteak  and  Aunt 
Mary  pouring  the  coffee  when  she  finally  arrived  in  the 
dining  room  to  nibble  at  one  of  Bridget’s  unforgettable  rolls 
or  hot  biscuits.  Uncle  Tom  had  his  joke,  and  at  quarter- 
past  eight  precisely  he  would  kiss  Aunt  Mary  and  walk 
to  the  corner  to  wait  for  the  ambling  horse-car  that  was 
to  take  him  to  the  bank.  Sometimes  Honora  went  to  the 
corner  with  him,  and  he  waved  her  good-by  from  the 
platform  as  he  felt  in  his  pocket  for  the  nickel  that  was 
to  pay  his  fare. 

When  Honora  returned,  Aunt  Mary  had  donned  her 
apron,  and  was  industriously  aiding  Mary  Ann  to  wash 
the  dishes  and  maintain  the  customary  high  polish  on  her 
husband’s  share  of  the  Leffingwell  silver  which,  standing 
on  the  side  table,  shot  hither  and  thither  rays  of  green 
light  that  filtered  through  the  shutters  into  the  darkened 
room.  The  child  partook  of  Aunt  Mary’s  pride  in  that 
silver,  made  for  a Kentucky  great-grandfather  Leffingwell 
by  a famous  Philadelphia  silversmith  three-quarters  of  a 
century  before.  Honora  sighed. 

44  What’s  the  matter,  Honora  ? ” asked  Aunt  Mary, 
without  pausing  in  her  vigorous  rubbing. 

44  The  Leffingwells  used  to  be  great  once  upon  a time, 
didn’t  they,  Aunt  Mary  ? ” 

44  Your  Uncle  Tom,”  answered  Aunt  Mary,  quietly,  44  is 
the  greatest  man  I know,  child.” 

44  And  my  father  must  have  been  a great  man,  too,” 
cried  Honora,  44 to  have  been  a consul  and  drive  coaches.” 
Aunt  Mary  was  silent.  She  was  not  a person  who 
spoke  easily  on  difficult  subjects. 

44  Why  don’t  you  ever  talk  to  me  about  my  father,  Aunt 
Mary?  Uncle  Tom  does.” 

44 1 didn’t  know  your  father,  Honora.” 

44  But  you  have  seen  him  ? ” 

44  Yes,”  said  Aunt  Mary,  dipping  her  cloth  into  the 
whiting;  44 1 saw  him  at  my  wedding.  But  he  was  very 
young.” 


14 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


“ What  was  he  like  ? ” Honora  demanded.  “ He  was 
very  handsome,  wasn’t  he  ? ” 

“ Yes,  child.” 

“And  he  had  ambition,  didn’t  he,  Aunt  Mary  ? ” 

Aunt  Mary  paused.  Her  eyes  were  troubled  as  she 
looked  at  Honora,  whose  head  was  thrown  back. 

“ What  kind  of  ambition  do  you  mean,  Honora  ? ” 

“ Oh,”  cried  Honora,  “ to  be  great  and  rich  and  power- 
ful, and  to  be  somebody.” 

“ Who  has  been  putting  such  things  in  your  head,  my 
dear  ? ” 

“No  one,  Aunt  Mary.  Only,  if  I were  a man,  I 
shouldn’t  rest  until  I became  great.” 

Alas,  that  Aunt  Mary,  with  all  her  will,  should  have 
such  limited  powers  of  expression  ! She  resumed  her 
scrubbing  of  the  silver  before  she  spoke. 

“To  do  one’s  duty,  to  accept  cheerfully  and  like  a 
Christian  the  responsibilities  and  burdens  of  life,  is  the 
highest  form  of  greatness,  my  child.  Your  Uncle  Tom 
has  had  many  things  to  trouble  him;  he  has  always  worked 
for  others,  and  not  for  himself.  And  he  is  respected  and 
loved  by  all  who  know  him.” 

“ Yes,  I know,  Aunt  Mary.  But  — ” 

“ But  what,  Honora  ? ” 

“ Then  why  isn’t  he  rich,  as  my  father  was  ? ” 

“ Your  father  wasn’t  rich,  my  dear,”  said  Aunt  Mary, 
sadly. 

“ Why,  Aunt  Mary  ! ” Honora  exclaimed,  “ he  lived  in 
a beautiful  house,  and  owned  horses.  Isn’t  that  being 
rich  ? ” 

Poor  Aunt  Mary  ! 

“ Honora,”  she  answered,  “ there  are  some  things  you 
are  too  young  to  understand.  But  try  to  remember,  my 
dear,  that  happiness  doesn’t  consist  in  being  rich.” 

“ But  I have  often  heard  you  say  that  you  wished  you 
were  rich,  Aunt  Mary,  and  had  nice  things,  and  a picture 
gallery  like  Mr.  Dwyer.” 

“I  should  like  to  have  beautiful  pictures,  Honora.” 

“ I don’t  like  Mr.  Dwyer,”  declared  Honora,  abruptly. 


PERDITA  RECALLED 


15 


“You  mustn’t  say  that,  Honora,”  was  Aunt  Mary’s  re- 
proof. “ Mr.  Dwyer  is  an  upright,  public-spirited  man, 
and  he  thinks  a great  deal  of  your  Uncle  Tom.” 

“ I can’t  help  it,  Aunt  Mary,”  said  Honora.  “ I think  he 
enjoys  being  — - well,  being  able  to  do  things  for  a man  like 
Uncle  Tom.” 

Neither  Aunt  Mary  nor  Honora  guessed  what  a subtle 
criticism  this  was  of  Mr.  Dwyer.  Aunt  Mary  was  troubled 
and  puzzled;  and  she  began  to  speculate  (not  for  the  first 
time)  why  the  Lord  had  given  a person  with  so  little 
imagination  a child  like  Honora  to  bring  up  in  the 
straight  and  narrow  path. 

“When  I go  on  Sunday  afternoons  with  Uncle  Tom  to 
see  Mr.  Dwyer’s  pictures,”  Honora  persisted,  “ I always 
feel  that  he  is  so  glad  to  have  what  other  people  haven’t, 
or  he  wouldn’t  have  any  one  to  show  them  to.” 

Aunt  Mary  shook  her  head.  Once  she  had  given  her 
loyal  friendship,  such  faults  as  this  became  as  nothing. 

“ And  then,”  said  Honora,  “ when  Mrs.  Dwyer  has 
dinner-parties  for  celebrated  people  who  come  here,  why 
does  she  invite  you  in  to  see  the  table  ? ” 

“ Out  of  kindness,  Honora.  Mrs.  Dwyer  knows  that  I 
enjoy  looking  at  beautiful  things.” 

“ Why  doesn’t  she  invite  you  to  the  dinners  ? ” asked 
Honora,  hotly.  “ Our  family  is  just  as  good  as  Mrs. 
Dwyer’s.” 

The  extent  of  Aunt  Mary’s  distress  was  not  apparent. 

“You  are  talking  nonsense,  my  child,”  she  said.  “ All 
my  friends  know  that  I am  not  a person  who  can  entertain 
distinguished  people,  and  that  I do  not  go  out,  and  that 
I haven’t  the  money  to  buy  evening  dresses.  And  even 
if  I had,”  she  added,  “ I haven’t  a pretty  neck,  so  it’s  just 
as  well.” 

A philosophy  distinctly  Aunt  Mary’s. 

Uncle  Tom,  after  he  had  listened  without  comment  that 
evening  to  her  account  of  this  conversation,  was  of  the 
opinion  that  to  take  Honora  to  task  for  her  fancies  would 
be  waste  of  breath;  that  they  would  right  themselves  as 
she  grew  up. 


16 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


“ I’m  afraid  it’s  inheritance,  Tom,”  said  Aunt  Mary,  at 
last.  “ And  if  so,  it  ought  to  be  counteracted.  We’ve 
seen  other  signs  of  it.  You  know  Honora  has  little  or  no 
idea  of  the  value  of  money  — or  of  its  ownership.” 

“She  sees  little  enough  of  it,”  Uncle  Tom  remarked 
with  a smile. 

“ Tom.” 

“ Well.” 

“ Sometimes  I think  I’ve  done  wrong  not  to  dress  her 
more  simply.  I’m  afraid  it’s  given  the  child  a taste  for 
— for  self-adornment.” 

“ I once  had  a fond  belief  that  all  women  possessed  such 
a taste,”  said  Uncle  Tom,  with  a quizzical  look  at  his  own 
exception.  “ To  tell  you  the  truth,  I never  classed  it  as  a 
fault.” 

“ Then  I don’t  see  why  you  married  me,”  said  Aunt 
Mary  — a periodical  remark  of  hers.  “ But,  Tom,  I do 
wish  her  to  appear  as  well  as  the  other  children,  and 
(Aunt  Mary  actually  blushed)  the  child  has  good  looks.” 

“ Why  don’t  you  go  as  far  as  old  Catherine,  and  call 
her  a princess  ? ” he  asked. 

“ Do  you  want  me  to  ruin  her  utterly  ? ” exclaimed 
Aunt  Mary. 

Uncle  Tom  put  his  hands  on  his  wife’s  shoulders  and 
looked  down  into  her  face,  and  smiled  again.  Although 
she  held  herself  very  straight,  the  top  of  her  head  was 
very  little  above  the  level  of  his  chin. 

“ It  strikes  me  that  you  are  entitled  to  some  little  in- 
dulgence in  life,  Mary,”  he  said. 

One  of  the  curious  contradictions  of  Aunt  Mary’s  char- 
acter was  a never  dying  interest,  which  held  no  taint  of 
envy,  in  the  doings  of  people  more  fortunate  than  her- 
self. In  the  long  summer  days,  after  her  silver  was 
cleaned  and  her  housekeeping  and  marketing  finished, 
she  read  in  the  book-club  periodicals  of  royal  marriages, 
embassy  balls,  of  great  town  and  country  houses  and  their 
owners  at  home  and  abroad.  And  she  knew,  by  means  of 
a correspondence  with  Cousin  Eleanor  Hanbury  and  other 
intimates,  the  kind  of  cottages  in  which  her  friends 


PERDITA  RECALLED 


17 


sojourned  at  the  seashore  or  in  the  mountains;  how  many 
rooms  they  had,  and  how  many  servants,  and  very  often 
who  the  servants  were;  she  was  likewise  informed  on  the 
climate,  and  the  ease  with  which  it  was  possible  to  obtain 
fresh  vegetables.  And  to  all  of  this  information  Uncle 
Tom  would  listen,  smiling  but  genuinely  interested,  while 
he  carved  at  dinner. 

One  evening,  when  Uncle  Tom  had  gone  to  play  piquet 
with  Mr.  Isham,  who  was  ill,  Honora  further  surprised 
her  aunt  by  exclaiming : — 

44  How  can  you  talk  of  things  other  people  have  and  not 
want  them,  Aunt  Mary  ? ” 

44  Why  should  I desire  what  I cannot  have,  my  dear  ? 
I take  such  pleasure  out  of  my  friends’  possessions  as  I 
can.” 

44  But  you  want  to  go  to  the  seashore,  I know  you  do. 
I’ve  heard  you  say  so,”  Honora  protested. 

44 1 should  like  to  see  the  open  ocean  before  I die,”  ad- 
mitted Aunt  Mary,  unexpectedly.  44 1 saw  New  York  har- 
bour once,  when  we  went  to  meet  you.  And  I know  how 
the  salt  water  smells  — which  is  as  much,  perhaps,  as  I have 
the  right  to  hope  for.  But  I have  often  thought  it  would 
be  nice  to  sit  for  a whole  summer  by  the  sea  and  listen 
to  the  waves  dashing  upon  the  beach,  like  those  in  the 
Chase  picture  in  Mr.  Dwyer’s  gallery.” 

Aunt  Mary  little  guessed  the  unspeakable  rebellion 
aroused  in  Honora  by  this  acknowledgment  of  being 
fatally  circumscribed.  Wouldn’t  Uncle  Tom  ever  be 
rich  ? 

Aunt  Mary  shook  her  head  — she  saw  no  prospect  of  it. 

But  other  men,  who  were  not  half  so  good  as  Uncle 
Tom,  got  rich. 

Uncle  Tom  was  not  the  kind  of  man  who  cared  for 
riches.  He  was  content  to  do  his  duty  in  that  sphere 
where  God  had  placed  him. 

Poor  Aunt  Mary.  Honora  never  asked  her  uncle  such 
questions  : to  do  so  never  occurred  to  her.  At  peace 
with  all  men,  he  gave  of  his  best  to  children,  and  Honora 
remained  a child.  Next  to  his  flowers,  walking  was 


18 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


Uncle  Tom’s  chief  recreation,  and  from  the  time  she 
could  be  guided  by  the  hand  she  went  with  him.  His 
very  presence  had  the  gift  of  dispelling  longings,  even  in 
the  young;  the  gift  of  compelling  delight  in  simple 
things.  Of  a Sunday  afternoon,  if  the  heat  were  not  too 
great,  he  would  take  Honora  to  the  wild  park  that 
stretches  westward  of  the  city,  and  something  of  the 
depth  and  intensity  of  his  pleasure  in  the  birds,  the  forest, 
and  the  wild  flowers  would  communicate  itself  to  her. 
She  learned  all  unconsciously  (by  suggestion,  as  it  were) 
to  take  delight  in  them;  a delight  that  was  to  last  her 
lifetime,  a never  failing  resource  to  which  she  was  to  turn 
again  and  again.  In  winter,  they  went  to  the  botanical 
gardens  or  the  Zoo.  Uncle  Tom  had  a passion  for  animals, 
and  Mr.  Isham,  who  was  a director,  gave  him  a pass 
through  the  gates.  The  keepers  knew  him,  and  spoke  to 
him  with  kindly  respect.  Nay,  it  seemed  to  Honora  that 
the  very  animals  knew  him,  and  offered  themselves  in- 
gratiatingly to  be  stroked  by  one  whom  they  recognized 
as  friend.  Jaded  horses  in  the  street  lifted  their  noses  ; 
stray,  homeless  cats  rubbed  against  his  legs,  and  vagrant 
dogs  looked  up  at  him  trustfully  with  wagging  tails. 

Yet  his  goodness,  as  Emerson  would  have  said,  had 
some  edge  to  it.  Honora  had  seen  the  light  of  anger  in 
his  blue  eye  — - a divine  ray.  Once  he  had  chastised  her 
for  telling  Aunt  Mary  a lie  (she  could  not  have  lied  to 
him)  and  Honora  had  never  forgotten  it.  The  anger  of 
such  a man  had  indeed  some  element  in  it  of  the  divine  ; 
terrible,  not  in  volume,  but  in  righteous  intensity.  And 
when  it  had  passed  there  was  no  occasion  for  future  warn- 
ing. The  memory  of  it  lingered. 


CHAPTER  III 


CONCERNING  PROVIDENCE 

W HAT  quality  was  it  in  Honora  that  compelled  Bridget 
to  stop  her  ironing  on  Tuesdays  in  order  to  make  hot 
waffles  for  a young  woman  who  was  late  to  breakfast  ? 
Bridget,  who  would  have  filled  the  kitchen  with  righteous 
wrath  if  Aunt  Mary  had  transgressed  the  rules  of  the 
house,  which  were  like  the  laws  of  the  Medes  and  Per- 
sians! And  in  Honora’s  early  youth  Mary  Ann,  the 
housemaid,  spent  more  than  one  painful  evening  writing 
home  for  cockle  shells  and  other  articles  to  propitiate  our 
princess,  who  rewarded  her  with  a winning  smile  and  a 
kiss,  which  invariably  melted  the  honest  girl  into  tears. 
The  Queen  of  Scots  never  had  a more  devoted  chamber 
woman  than  old  Catherine,  who  would  have  gone  to  the 
stake  with  a smile  to  save  her  little  lady  a single  childish 
ill,  and  who  spent  her  savings,  until  severely  taken  to 
task  by  Aunt  Mary,  upon  objects  for  which  a casual  wish 
had  been  expressed.  The  saints  themselves  must  at  times 
have  been  aweary  from  hearing  Honora’s  name. 

Not  to  speak  of  Christmas  ! Christmas  in  the  little 
house  was  one  wild  delirium  of  joy.  The  night  before  the 
festival  was,  to  all  outward  appearances,  an  ordinary  even- 
ing, when  Uncle  Tom  sat  by  the  fire  in  his  slippers,  as 
usual,  scouting  the  idea  that  there  would  be  any  Christ- 
mas at  all.  Aunt  Mary  sewed,  and  talked  with  maddening 
calmness  of  the  news  of  the  day ; but  for  Honora  the  air 
was  charged  with  coming  events  of  the  first  magnitude. 
The  very  furniture  of  the  little  sitting-room  had  a differ- 
ent air,  the  room  itself  wore  a mysterious  aspect,  and  the 
cannel-coal  fire  seemed  to  give  forth  a special  quality  of 
unearthly  light. 


19 


20 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


“ Is  to-morrow  Christmas  ? ” Uncle  Tom  would  exclaim. 
“ Bless  me  ! Honora,  I am  so  glad  you  reminded  me.” 

“Now,  Uncle  Tom,  you  knew  it  was  Christmas  all  the 
time  ! ” 

“ Kiss  your  uncle  good  night,  Honora,  and  go  right  to 
sleep,  dear,”  — from  Aunt  Mary. 

The  unconscious  irony  in  that  command  of  Aunt 
Mary’s  ! — to  go  right  to  sleep  ! Many  times  was  a head 
lifted  from  a small  pillow,  straining  after  the  meaning  of 
the  squeaky  noises  that  came  up  from  below  ! Not  Santa 
Claus.  Honora’s  belief  in  him  had  merged  into  a blind 
faith  in  a larger  and  even  more  benevolent  (if  material) 
providence:  the  kind  of  providence  which  Mr.  Meredith 
depicts,  and  which  was  to  say  to  Beauchamp  “ Here’s 
your  marquise ; ” a particular  providence  which,  at  the 
proper  time,  gave  Uncle  Tom  money,  and  commanded, 
with  a smile,  “Buy  this  for  Honora  — she  wants  it.”  All- 
sufficient  reason  ! Soul-satisfying  philosophy,  to  which 
Honora  was  to  cling  for  many  years  of  life.  It  is  amazing 
how  much  can  be  wrung  from  a reluctant  world  by  the 
mere  belief  in  this  kind  of  providence. 

Sleep  came  at  last,  in  the  darkest  of  the  hours.  And 
still  in  the  dark  hours  a stirring,  a delicious  sensation 
preceding  reason,  and  the  consciousness  of  a figure  steal- 
ing about  the  room.  Honora  sat  up  in  bed,  shivering 
with  cold  and  delight. 

“ Is  it  awake  ye  are,  darlint?  and  it  but  four  o’clock  the 
morn  ! ” 

“ What  are  you  doing,  Cathy  ? ” 

“ Musha,  it’s  to  Mass  I’m  going,  to  ask  the  Mother  of 
God  to  give  ye  many  happy  Christmases  the  like  of  this, 
Miss  Honora.”  And  Catherine’s  arms  were  about  her. 

“ Oh,  it’s  Christmas,  Cathy,  isn’t  it  ? How  could  I 
have  forgotten  it  ! ” 

“Now  go  to  sleep,  honey.  Your  aunt  and  uncle 
wouldn’t  like  it  at  all  at  all  if  ye  was  to  make  noise  in  the 
middle  of  the  night  — and  it’s  little  better  it  is.” 

Sleep  ! A despised  waste  of  time  in  childhood. 
Catherine  went  to  Mass,  and  after  an  eternity,  the  grey 


CONCERNING  PROVIDENCE 


21 


December  light  began  to  sift  through  the  shutters,  and 
human  endurance  had  reached  its  limit.  Honora,  still 
shivering,  seized  a fleecy  wrapper  (the  handiwork  of 
Aunt  Mary)  and  crept,  a diminutive  ghost,  down  the 
creaking  stairway  to  the  sitting-room.  A sitting-room 
which  now  was  not  a sitting-room,  but  for  to-day  a place  of 
magic.  As  though  by  a prearranged  salute  of  the  gods, 
at  Honora’s  entrance  the  fire  burst  through  the  thick 
blanket  of  fine  coal  which  Uncle  Tom  had  laid  before 
going  to  bed,  and  with  a little  gasp  of  joy  that  was  almost 
pain,  she  paused  on  the  threshold.  That  one  flash,  like 
Pizarro’s  first  sunrise  over  Peru,  gilded  the  edge  of  infi- 
nite possibilities. 

Needless  to  enumerate  them.  The  whole  world,  as  we 
know,  was  in  a conspiracy  to  spoil  Honora.  The  Dwyers, 
the  Cartwrights,  the  Haydens,  the  Brices,  the  Ishams, 
and  I know  not  how  many  others  had  sent  their  tributes, 
and  Honora’s  second  cousins,  the  Hanburys,  from  the 
family  mansion  behind  the  stately  elms  of  Wayland 
Square  — of  which  something  anon.  A miniature  ma- 
hogany desk,  a prayer-book  and  hymnal  which  the  Dwyers 
had  brought  home  from  New  York,  endless  volumes  of  a 
more  secular  and  (to  Honora)  entrancing  nature  ; roller 
skates;  skates  for  real  ice,  when  it  should  apppear  in  the 
form  of  sleet  on  the  sidewalks;  a sled;  humbler  gifts 
from  Bridget,  Mary  Ann,  and  Catherine,  and  a wonderful 
coat,  with  hat  to  match,  of  a certain  dark  green  velvet. 
When  Aunt  Mary  appeared,  an  hour  or  so  later,  Honora 
was  surveying  her  magnificence  in  the  glass. 

“ Oh,  Aunt  Mary  ! ” she  cried,  with  her  arms  tightly 
locked  around  her  aunt’s  neck,  “ how  lovely  ! Did  you 
send  all  the  way  to  New  York  for  it  ?” 

“No,  Honora,”  said  her  aunt,  “ it  didn’t  come  from 
New  York.”  Aunt  Mary  did  not  explain  that  this  coat 
had  been  her  one  engrossing  occupation  for  six  weeks, 
at  such  times  when  Honora  was  out  or  tucked  away  safely 
in  bed. 

Perhaps  Honora’s  face  fell  a little.  Aunt  Mary  scanned 
it  rather  anxiously. 


22 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


“ Does  that  cause  you  to  like  it  any  less,  Honora?  ” she 
asked. 

“ Aunt  Mary  ! ” exclaimed  Honora,  in  a tone  of  reproval. 
And  added  after  a little,  “ I suppose  Mademoiselle  made 
it.” 

“ Does  it  make  any  difference  who  made  it,  Honora  ? ” 

“ Oh,  no  indeed,  Aunt  Mary.  May  I wear  it  to  Cousin 
Eleanor’s  to-day?  ” 

“ I gave  it  to  you  to  wear,  Honora.” 

Not  in  Honora’s  memory  was  there  a Christmas  break- 
fast during  which  Peter  Erwin  did  not  appear,  bringing 
gifts.  Peter  Erwin,  of  whom  we  caught  a glimpse  doing 
an  errand  for  Uncle  Tom  in  the  bank.  With  the  com- 
placency of  the  sun  Honora  was  wont  to  regard  this  most 
constant  of  her  satellites.  Her  awakening  powers  of  ob- 
servation had  discovered  him  in  bondage,  and  in  bondage 
he  had  been  ever  since  : for  their  acquaintance  had  begun 
on  the  first  Sunday  afternoon  after  Honora’s  arrival  in 
St.  Louis  at  the  age  of  eighteen  months.  It  will  be  re- 
membered that  Honora  was  even  then  a coquette,  and  as 
she  sat  in  her  new  baby-carriage  under  the  pear  tree,  flirted 
outrageously  with  Peter,  who  stood  on  one  foot  from  em- 
barrassment. 

“Why,  Peter,”  Uncle  Tom  had  said  slyly,  “why  don’t 
you  kiss  her?  ” 

That  kiss  had  been  Peter’s  seal  of  service.  And  he 
became,  on  Sunday  afternoons,  a sort  of  understudy  for 
Catherine.  He  took  an  amazing  delight  in  wheeling  Ho- 
nora up  and  down  the  yard,  and  up  and  down  the  side- 
walk. Brunhilde  or  Queen  Elizabeth  never  wielded  a 
power  more  absolute,  nor  had  an  adorer  more  satisfac- 
tory; and  of  all  his  remarkable  talents,  none  were  more 
conspicuous  than  his  abilities  to  tell  a story  and  to 
choose  a present.  Emancipated  from  the  perambulator, 
Honora  would  watch  for  him  at  the  window,  and  toddle 
to  the  gate  to  meet  him,  a gentleman-in-waiting  whose 
zeal,  however  arduous,  never  flagged. 

On  this  particular  Christmas  morning,  when  she  heard 
the  gate  slam,  Honora  sprang  up  from  the  table  to  don  her 


CONCERNING  PROVIDENCE 


23 


green  velvet  coat.  Poor  Peter  ! As  though  his  subjuga- 
tion could  be  more  complete ! 

“It’s  the  postman,”  suggested  Uncle  Tom,  wickedly. 

“ It’s  Peter ! ” cried  Honora,  triumphantly,  from  the  hall 
as  she  flung  open  the  door,  letting  in  a breath  of  cold 
Christmas  air  out  of  the  sunlight. 

It  was  Peter,  but  a Peter  who  has  changed  some  since 
perambulator  days,  — just  as  Honora  has  changed  some. 
A Peter  who,  instead  of  fourteen,  is  six  and  twenty  ; a 
full-fledged  lawyer,  in  the  office  of  that  most  celebrated 
of  St.  Louis  practitioners,  Judge  Stephen  Brice.  For  the 
Peter  Erwins  of  this  world  are  queer  creatures,  and  move 
rapidly  without  appearing  to  the  Honoras  to  move  at  all. 
A great  many  things  have  happened  to  Peter  since  he  had 
been  a messenger  boy  in  the  bank. 

Needless  to  say,  Uncle  Tom  had  taken  an  interest  in 
him.  And,  according  to  Peter,  this  fact  accounted  for  all 
the  good  fortune  which  had  followed.  Shortly  before  the 
news  came  of  his  brother’s  death,  Uncle  Tom  had  discovered 
that  the  boy  who  did  his  errands  so  willingly  was  going  to 
night  school,  and  was  the  grandson  of  a gentleman  who 
had  fought  with  credit  in  the  Mexican  War,  and  died  in 
misfortune:  the  grandmother  was  Peter’s  only  living  rela- 
tive. Through  Uncle  Tom,  Mr.  Isham  became  interested, 
and  Judge  Brice.  There  was  a certain  scholarship  in 
the  Washington  University  which  Peter  obtained,  and  he 
worked  his  way  through  the  law  school  afterwards. 

A simple  story,  of  which  many  a duplicate  could  be 
found  in  this  country  of  ours.  In  the  course  of  the  dozen 
years  or  so  of  its  unravelling  the  grandmother  had  died,  and 
Peter  had  become,  to  all  intents  and  purposes,  a member 
of  Uncle  Tom’s  family.  A place  was  set  for  him  at  Sun- 
day dinner ; and,  if  he  did  not  appear,  at  Sunday  tea. 
Sometimes  at  both.  And  here  he  was,  as  usual,  on  Christ- 
mas morning,  his  arms  so  full  that  he  had  had  to  push  open 
the  gate  with  his  foot. 

“Well,  well,  well,  well ! ” he  said,  stopping  short  on  the 
doorstep  and  surveying  our  velvet-clad  princess,  “ I’ve 
come  to  the  wrong  house.” 


24 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


The  princess  stuck  her  finger  into  her  cheek. 

“ Don’t  be  silly,  Peter  ! ” she  said;  “and  Merry  Christ- 
mas ! ” 

“ Merry  Christmas  ! ” he  replied,  edging  sidewise  in  at 
the  door  and  depositing  his  parcels  on  the  mahogany  horse- 
hair sofa.  He  chose  one,  and  seized  the  princess  — velvet 
coat  and  all  ! — in  his  arms  and  kissed  her.  When  he  re- 
leased her,  there  remained  in  her  hand  a morocco-bound 
diary,  marked  with  her  monogram,  and  destined  to  contain 
high  matters. 

“ How  could  you  know  what  I wanted,  Peter  ?”  she  ex- 
claimed, after  she  had  divested  it  of  the  tissue  paper,  holly, 
and  red  ribbon  in  which  he  had  so  carefully  wrapped  it. 
For  it  is  a royal  trait  to  thank  with  the  same  graciousness 
and  warmth  the  donors  of  the  humblest  and  the  greatest 
offerings. 

There  was  a paper-knife  for  Uncle  Tom,  and  a work- 
basket  for  Aunt  Mary,  and  a dress  apiece  for  Catherine, 
Bridget,  and  Mary  Ann,  none  of  whom  Peter  ever  forgot. 
Although  the  smoke  was  even  at  that  period  beginning  to 
creep  westward,  the  sun  poured  through  the  lace  curtains 
into  the  little  dining-room  and  danced  on  the  silver  coffee- 
pot as  Aunt  Mary  poured  out  Peter’s  cup,  and  the  blue 
china  breakfast  plates  were  bluer  than  ever  because  it  was 
Christmas.  The  humblest  of  familiar  articles  took  on  the 
air  of  a present.  And  after  breakfast,  while  Aunt  Mary 
occupied  herself  with  that  immemorial  institution, — which 
was  to  lure  hitherwards  so  many  prominent  citizens  of 
St.  Louis  during  the  day,  — eggnogg,  Peter  surveyed  the 
offerings  which  transformed  the  sitting-room.  The  table 
had  been  pushed  back  against  the  bookcases,  the  chairs 
knew  not  their  time-honoured  places,  and  white  paper  and 
red  ribbon  littered  the  floor.  Uncle  Tom,  relegated  to  a 
corner,  pretended  to  read  his  newspaper,  while  Honora 
flitted  from  Peter’s  knees  to  his,  or  sat  cross-legged  on  the 
hearthrug  investigating  a bottomless  stocking. 

“ What  in  the  world  are  we  going  to  do  with  all  these 
things  ? ” said  Peter. 

“ We?”  cried  Honora. 


CONCERNING  PROVIDENCE 


25 


“When  we  get  married,  I mean,”  said  Peter,  smiling 
at  Uncle  Tom.  “ Let’s  see  ! ” and  he  began  counting  on 
his  fingers,  which  were  long  but  very  strong  — so  strong 
that  Honora  could  never  loosen  even  one  of  them  when 
they  gripped  her.  “One  — two  — three  — eight  Christ- 
mases before  you  are  twenty-one.  We’ll  have  enough 
things  to  set  us  up  in  housekeeping.  Or  perhaps  you’d 
rather  get  married  when  you  are  eighteen  ? ” 

“ I’ve  always  told  you  I wasn’t  going  to  marry  you, 
Peter,”  said  Honora,  with  decision. 

“ Why  not  ? ” He  always  asked  that  question. 

Honora  sighed. 

“ I’ll  make  a good  husband,”  said  Peter ; “ I’ll  promise. 
Ugly  men  are  always  good  husbands.” 

“ I didn’t  say  you  were  ugly,”  declared  the  ever  con- 
siderate Honora. 

“ Only  my  nose  is  too  big,”  he  quoted  ; “ and  I am  too 
long  one  way  and  not  wide  enough.” 

“ You  have  a certain  air  of  distinction  in  spite  of  it,” 
said  Honora. 

Uncle  Tom’s  newspaper  began  to  shake,  and  he  read 
more  industriously  than  ever. 

“You’ve  been  reading  — novels  ! ” said  Peter,  in  a ter- 
rible judicial  voice. 

Honora  flushed  guiltily,  and  resumed  her  inspection 
of  the  stocking.  Miss  Rossiter,  a maiden  lady  of  some- 
what romantic  tendencies,  was  librarian  of  the  Book 
Club  that  year.  And  as  a result  a book  called  “ Harold’s 
Quest,”  by  an  author  who  shall  be  nameless,  had  come  to 
the  house.  And  it  was  Harold  who  had  had  “ a certain 
air  of  distinction.” 

“ It  isn’t  very  kind  of  you  to  make  fun  of  me  when  I 
pay  you  a compliment,”  replied  Honora,  with  dignity. 

“ I was  naturally  put  out,”  he  declared  gravely,  “ because 
you  said  you  wouldn’t  marry  me.  But  I don’t  intend  to 
give  up.  No  man  who  is  worth  his  salt  ever  gives 
up.” 

“You  are  old  enough  to  get  married  now,”  said  Honora, 
still  considerate. 


26 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


“ But  I am  not  rich  enough,”  said  Peter;  “ and  besides, 
I want  you.” 

One  of  the  first  entries  in  the  morocco  diary  — which 
had  a lock  and  key  to  it  — was  a description  of  Honora’s 


future  husband.  We  cannot  violate  the  lock,  nor  steal 
the  key  from  under  her  pillow.  But  this  much,  alas,  may 
be  said  with  discretion,  that  he  bore  no  resemblance  to 
Peter  Erwin.  It  may  be  guessed,  however,  that  he  con- 
tained something  of  Harold,  and  more  of  Randolph  Leffing- 
well;  and  that  he  did  not  live  in  St.  Louis. 


CONCERNING  PROVIDENCE 


27 


An  event  of  Christmas,  after  church,  was  the  dinner  of 
which  Uncle  Tom  and  Aunt  Mary  and  Honora  partook 
with  Cousin  Eleanor  Hanbury,  who  had  been  a Leffmgwell, 
and  was  a first  cousin  of  Honora’s  father.  Honora  loved 
the  atmosphere  of  the  massive,  yellow  stone  house  in 
Way  land  Square,  with  its  tall  polished  mahogany  doors 
and  thick  carpets,  with  its  deferential  darky  servants, 
some  of  whom  had  been  the  slaves  of  her  great  uncle. 
To  Honora,  gifted  with  imagination,  the  house  had  an 
odour  all  its  own ; a rich,  clean  odour  significant,  in  later 
life,  of  wealth  and  luxury  and  spotless  housekeeping. 
And  she  knew  it  from  top  to  bottom.  The  spacious 
upper  floor,  which  in  ordinary  dwellings  would  have  been 
an  attic,  was  the  realm  of  young  George  and  his  sisters, 
Edith  and  Mary  (Aunt  Mary’s  namesake).  Rainy  Satur- 
days, all  too  brief,  Honora  had  passed  there,  when  the 
big  dolls’  house  in  the  playroom  became  the  scene  of 
domestic  dramas  which  Edith  rehearsed  after  she  went  to 
bed,  although  Mary  took  them  more  calmly.  In  his  ten- 
derer years,  Honora  even  fired  George,  and  riots  occurred 
which  took  the  combined  efforts  of  Cousin  Eleanor  and 
Mammy  Lucy  to  quell.  It  may  be  remarked,  in  passing, 
that  Cousin  Eleanor  looked  with  suspicion  upon  this 
imaginative  gift  of  Honora’s,  and  had  several  serious  con- 
versations with  Aunt  Mary  on  the  subject. 

It  was  true,  in  a measure,  that  Honora  quickened  to  life 
everything  she  touched,  and  her  arrival  in  Way  land  Square 
was  invariably  greeted  with  shouts  of  joy.  There  was  no 
doll  on  which  she  had  not  bestowed  a history,  and  by  dint 
of  her  insistence  their  pasts  clung  to  them  with  all  the 
reality  of  a fate  not  by  any  means  to  be  lived  down.  If 
George  rode  the  huge  rocking-horse,  he  was  Paul  Revere, 
or  some  equally  historic  figure,  and  sometimes,  to  Edith’s 
terror,  he  was  compelled  to  assume  the  role  of  Bluebeard, 
when  Honora  submitted  to  decapitation  with  a fortitude 
amounting  to  stoicism.  Hide  and  seek  was  altogether  too 
tame  for  her,  a stake  of  life  and  death,  or  imprisonment  or 
treasure,  being  a necessity.  And  many  times  was  Edith 
extracted  from  the  recesses  of  the  cellar  in  a condition  bor- 


28 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


dering  on  hysterics,  the  day  ending  tamely  with  a Bible 
story  or  a selection  from  “Little  Women”  read  by  Cousin 
Eleanor. 

In  autumn,  and  again  in  spring  and  early  summer  before 
the  annual  departure  of  the  Hanbury  family  for  the  sea, 
the  pleasant  yard  with  its  wide  shade  trees  and  its  shrub- 
bery was  a land  of  enchantment  threatened  by  a genie. 
Black  Bias,  the  family  coachman,  polishing  the  fat  carriage 
horses  in  the  stable  yard,  was  the  genie ; and  George  the 
intrepid  knight  who,  spurred  by  Honora,  would  dash  in 
and  pinch  Bias  in  a part  of  his  anatomy  which  the  honest 
darky  had  never  seen.  An  ideal  genie,  for  he  could  as- 
sume an  astonishing  fierceness  at  will. 

“ I’ll  git  you  yit,  Marse  George  ! ” 

Had  it  not  been  for  Honora,  her  cousins  would  have 
found  the  paradise  in  which  they  lived  a commonplace 
spot,  and  indeed  they  never  could  realize  its  tremendous 
possibilities  in  her  absence.  What  would  the  Mediterra- 
nean Sea  and  its  adjoining  countries  be  to  us  unless  the 
wanderings  of  Ulysses  and  iEneas  had  made  them  real  ? 
And  what  would  Cousin  Eleanor’s  yard  have  been  with- 
out Honora  ? Whatever  there  was  of  romance  and  folk- 
lore in  Uncle  Tom’s  library  Honora  had  extracted  at  an 
early  age,  and  with  astonishing  ease  had  avoided  that 
which  was  dry  and  uninteresting.  The  result  was  a no- 
menclature for  Aunt  Eleanor’s  yard,  in  which  there  was 
even  a terra  incognita  wherefrom  venturesome  travellers 
never  returned,  but  were  transformed  into  wild  beasts  or 
monkeys. 

Although  they  acknowledged  her  leadership,  Edith  and 
Mary  were  sorry  for  Honora,  for  they  knew  that  if  her 
father  had  lived  she  would  have  had  a house  and  garden 
like  theirs,  only  larger,  and  beside  a blue  sea  where  it  was 
warm  always.  Honora  had  told  them  so,  and  colour  was 
lent  to  her  assertions  by  the  fact  that  their  mother,  when 
they  repeated  this  to  her,  only  smiled  sadly,  and  brushed 
her  eyes  with  her  handkerchief.  She  was  even  more  beau- 
tiful when  she  did  so,  Edith  told  her,  — a remark  which 
caused  Mrs.  Hanbury  to  scan  her  younger  daughter  closely; 
it  smacked  of  Honora. 


CONCERNING  PROVIDENCE 


29 


u Was  Cousin  Randolph  handsome?”  Edith  demanded. 
Mrs.  Hanbury  started,  so  vividly  there  arose  before  her 
eyes  a brave  and  dashing  figure,  clad  in  grey  English  cloth, 
walking  by  her  side  on  a sunny  autumn  morning  in  the 
Rue  de  la  Paix.  Well  she  remembered  that  trip  abroad 
with  her  mother,  Randolph’s  aunt,  and  how  attentive  he 
was,  and  showed  them  the  best  restaurants  in  which  to 


dine.  He  had  only  been  in  France  a short  time,  but  his 
knowledge  of  restaurants  and  the  world  in  general  had  been 
amazing,  and  his  acquaintances  legion.  He  had  a way, 
which  there  was  no  resisting,  of  taking  people  by  storm. 

“Yes,  dear,”  answered  Mrs.  Hanbury,  absently,  when 
the  child  repeated  the  question,  “he  was  very  handsome.” 
“ Honora  says  he  would  have  been  President,”  put  in 
George.  “ Of  course  I don’t  believe  it.  She  said  they 
lived  in  a palace  by  the  sea  in  the  south  of  France,  with 
gardens  and  fountains  and  a lot  of  things  like  that,  and 
princesses  and  princes  and  eunuchs  — ” 

“ And  what ! ” exclaimed  Mrs.  Hanbury,  aghast. 


30 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


“ I know,”  said  George,  contemptuously,  “ she  got  that 
out  of  the  6 Arabian  Nights.’  ” But  this  suspicion  did  not 
prevent  him,  the  next  time  Honora  regaled  them  with  more 
adventures  of  the  palace  by  the  summer  seas,  from  listen- 
ing with  a rapt  attention.  No  two  tales  were  ever  alike. 
His  admiration  for  Honora  did  not  wane,  but  increased. 
It  differed  from  that  of  his  sisters,  however,  in  being  a 
tribute  to  her  creative  faculties,  while  Edith’s  breathless 
faith  pictured  her  cousin  as  having  passed  through  as 
many  adventures  as  Queen  Esther.  George  paid  her  a 
characteristic  compliment,  but  chivalrously  drew  her  aside 
to  bestow  it.  He  was  not  one  to  mince  matters. 

“You’re  a wonder,  Honora,”  he  said.  “If  I could  lie 
like  that,  I wouldn’t  want  a pony.” 

He  was  forced  to  draw  back  a little  from  the  heat  of 
the  conflagration  he  had  kindled. 

“ George  Hanbury,”  she  cried,  “ don’t  you  ever  speak 
to  me  again  ! Never  ! Do  you  understand  ? ” 

It  was  thus  that  George,  at  some  cost,  had  made  a con- 
siderable discovery  which,  for  the  moment,  shook  even 
his  scepticism.  Honora  believed  it  all  herself. 

Cousin  Eleanor  Hanbury  was  a person,  or  personage, 
who  took  a deep  and  abiding  interest  in  her  fellow-be- 
ings, and  the  old  clothes  of  the  Hanbury  family  went 
unerringly  to  the  needy  whose  figures  most  resembled 
those  of  the  original  owners.  For  Mrs.  Hanbury  had  a 
wide  but  comparatively  unknown  charity  list.  She  was, 
secretly,  one  of  the  many  providences  which  Honora  ac- 
cepted collectively,  although  it  is  by  no  means  certain 
whether  Honora,  at  this  period,  would  have  thanked  her 
cousin  for  tuition  at  Miss  Farmer’s  school,  and  for  her 
daily  tasks  at  French  and  music  concerning  which  Aunt 
Mary  was  so  particular.  On  the  memorable  Christmas 
morning  when,  arrayed  in  green  velvet,  she  arrived 
with  her  aunt  and  uncle  for  dinner  in  Way  land  Square, 
Cousin  Eleanor  drew  Aunt  Mary  into  her  bedroom  and 
shut /the  door,  and  handed  her  a sealed  envelope.  With- 
out opening  it,  but  guessing  with  much  accuracy  its  con- 
tents, Aunt  Mary  handed  it  back. 


CONCERNING  PROVIDENCE 


31 


“ You  are  doing  too  much,  Eleanor,”  she  said. 

Mrs.  Hanbury  was  likewise  a direct  person. 

“ I will  take  it  back  on  one  condition,  Mary.  If  you 
will  tell  me  that  Toni  has  finished  paying  Randolph’s 
debts.” 

Mrs.  Leffingwell  was  silent. 

“ I thought  not,”  said  Mrs.  Hanbury.  “ Now  Randolph 
was  my  own  cousin,  and  I insist.” 

Aunt  Mary  turned  over  the  envelope,  and  there  followed 
a few  moments’  silence,  broken  only  by  the  distant  clamour 
of  tin  horns  and  other  musical  instruments  of  the  season. 

“I  sometimes  think,  Mary,  that  Honora  is  a little  like 
Randolph,  and — Mrs.  Randolph.  Of  course,  I did  not 
know  her.” 

“Neither  did  I,”  said  Aunt  Mary. 

“ Mary,”  said  Mrs.  Hanbury,  again,  “ I realize  how  you 
worked  to  make  the  child  that  velvet  coat.  Do  you 
think  you  ought  to  dress  her  that  way  ? ” 

“ I don’t  see  why  she  shouldn’t  be  as  well  dressed  as 
the  children  of  my  friends,  Eleanor.” 

Mrs.  Hanbury  laid  her  hand  impulsively  on  Aunt 
Mary’s. 

“No  child  I know  of  dresses  half  as  well,”  said  Mrs. 
Hanbury.  “ The  trouble  you  take  — ” 

“ Is  rewarded,”  said  Aunt  Mary. 

“ Yes,”  Mrs.  Hanbury  agreed.  “ If  my  own  daughters 
were  half  as  good  looking,  I should  be  content.  And 
Honora  has  an  air  of  race.  Oh,  Mary,  can’t  you  see  ? I 
am  only  thinking  of  the  child’s  future.” 

“ Do  you  expect  me  to  take  down  all  my  mirrors, 
Eleanor  ? If  she  has  good  looks,”  said  Aunt  Mary,  “ she 
has  not  learned  it  from  my  lips.” 

It  was  true.  Even  Aunt  Mary’s  enemies,  and  she  had 
some,  could  not  accuse  her  of  the  weakness  of  flattery. 
So  Mrs.  Hanbury  smiled,  and  dropped  the  subject. 


CHAPTER  IV 


OF  TEMPERAMENT 

We  have  the  word  of  Mr.  Cyrus  Meeker  that  Honora 
did  not  have  to  learn  to  dance.  The  art  came  to  her 
naturally.  Of  Mr.  Cyrus  Meeker,  whose  mustaches,  at 
the  age  of  five  and  sixty,  are  waxed  as  tight  as  ever,  and 
whose  little  legs  to-day  are  as  nimble  as  of  yore.  He  has 
a memory  like  Mr.  Gladstone’s,  and  can  give  you  a social 
history  of  the  city  that  is  well  worth  your  time  and  atten- 
tion. He  will  tell  you  how,  for  instance,  he  was  kicked 
by  the  august  feet  of  Mr.  George  Hanbury  on  the  occasion 
of  his  first  lesson  to  that  distinguished  young  gentleman; 
and  how,  although  Mr.  Meeker’s  shins  were  sore,  he  pleaded 
nobly  for  Mr.  George,  who  was  sent  home  in  the  carriage 
by  himself,  — a punishment,  by  the  way,  which  Mr.  George 
desired  above  all  things. 

This  celebrated  incident  occurred  in  the  new  ballroom 
at  the  top  of  the  new  house  of  young  Mrs.  Hayden,  where 
the  meetings  of  the  dancing  class  were  held  weekly.  To- 
day the  soot,  like  the  ashes  of  Vesuvius,  spouting  from  ten 
thousand  soft-coal  craters,  has  buried  that  house  and  the 
whole  district  fathoms  deep  in  social  obscurity.  And 
beautiful  Mrs.  Hayden  — what  has  become  of  her  ? And 
Lucy  Hayden,  that  doll-like  darling  of  the  gods  ? 

All  this  belongs,  however,  to  another  history,  which 
may  some  day  be  written.  This  one  is  Honora’s,  and 
must  be  got  on  with,  for  it  is  to  be  a chronicle  of  light- 
ning changes.  Happy  we  if  we  can  follow  Honora,  and  we 
must  be  prepared  to  make  many  friends  and  drop  them  in 
the  process. 

Shortly  after  Mrs.  Hayden  had  built  that  palatial  house 
(which  had  a high  fence  around  its  grounds  and  a drive- 

32 


OF  TEMPERAMENT 


33 


way  leading  to  a porte-cochere)  and  had  given  her  initial 
ball,  the  dancing  class  began.  It  was  on  a blue  afternoon 
in  late  November  that  Aunt  Mary  and  Honora,  with  Cousin 
Eleanor  and  the  two  girls,  and  George  sulking  in  a corner 


of  the  carriage,  were  driven  through  the  gates  behind  Bias 
and  the  fat  horses  of  the  Hanburys. 


Honora  has  a vivid  remembrance  of  the  impression  the 
house  made  on  her,  with  its  polished  floors  and  spacious 
rooms  filled  with  a new  and  mysterious  and  altogether 
inspiring  fashion  of  things.  Mrs.  Hayden  represented  the 
outposts  in  the  days  of  Richardson  and  Davenport  — had 
Honora  but  known  it.  This  great  house  was  all  so  dif- 
ferent from  anything  she  (and  many  others  in  the  city) 
had  ever  seen.  And  she  stood  gazing  into  the  drawing- 


34 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


room,  with  its  curtains  and  decorously  drawn  shades,  in 
a rapture  which  her  aunt  and  cousins  were  far  from 
guessing. 

“ Come,  Honora,”  said  her  aunt.  “ What’s  the  matter, 
dear  ? ” 

How  could  she  explain  to  Aunt  Mary  that  the  sight  of 
beautiful  things  gave  her  a sort  of  pain  — when  she  did 
not  yet  know  it  herself?  There  was  the  massive  stair- 
way, for  instance,  which  they  ascended,  softly  lighted  by 
a great  leaded  window  of  stained  glass  on  the  first  land- 
ing ; and  the  spacious  bedrooms  with  their  shining  brass 
beds  and  lace  spreads  (another  innovation  which  Ho- 
nora resolved  to  adopt  when  she  married) ; and  at  last, 
far  above  all,  its  deep-set  windows  looking  out  above  the 
trees  towards  the  park  a mile  to  the  westward,  the  ball- 
room,— the  ballroom,  with  its  mirrors  and  high  chande- 
liers, and  chairs  of  gilt  and  blue  set  against  the  walls,  all 
of  which  made  no  impression  whatever  upon  George  and 
Mary  and  Edith,  bat  gave  Honora  a thrill.  No  wonder 
that  she  learned  to  dance  quickly  under  such  an  inspira- 
tion! 

And  how  pretty  Mrs.  Hayden  looked  as  she  came  for- 
ward to  greet  them  and  kissed  Honora!  She  had  been 
Virginia  Grey,  and  scarce  had  had  a gown  to  her  back 
when  she  had  married  the  elderly  Duncan  Hayden,  who 
had  built  her  this  house  and  presented  her  with  a check- 
book,— a check-book  which  Virginia  believed  to  be  like 
the  widow’s  cruse  of  oil — unfailing.  Alas,  those  days  of 
picnics  and  balls  ; of  dinners  at  that  recent  innovation, 
the  club  ; of  theatre-parties  and  excursions  to  baseball 
games  between  the  young  men  in  Mrs.  Hayden’s  train 
(and  all  young  men  were)  who  played  at  Harvard  or  Yale 
or  Princeton ; those  days  were  too  care-free  to  have  en- 
dured. 

“ Aunt  Mary,”  asked  Honora,  when  they  were  home 
again  in  the  lamplight  of  the  little  sitting-room,  “why 
was  it  that  Mr.  Meeker  was  so  polite  to  Cousin  Eleanor, 
and  asked  her  about  my  dancing  — - instead  of  you  ? ” 

Aunt  Mary  smiled. 


OF  TEMPERAMENT 


35 


“Because,  Honora,”  she  said,  “because  I am  a person 
of  no  importance  in  Mr.  Meeker’s  eyes.” 

“ If  I were  a man,”  cried  Honora,  fiercely,  “ I should 
never  rest  until  I had  made  enough  money  to  make  Mr. 
Meeker  wriggle.” 

“ Honora,  come  here,”  said  her  aunt,  gazing  in  troubled 
surprise  at  the  tense  little  figure  by  the  mantel.  “ I 
don’t  know  what  could  have  put  such  things  into  your 
head,  my  child.  Money  isn’t  everything.  In  times  of 
real  trouble  it  cannot  save  one.” 

“ But  it  can  save  one  from  humiliation  ! ” exclaimed 
Honora,  unexpectedly.  Another  sign  of  a peculiar  pre- 
cociousness, at  fourteen,  with  which  Aunt  Mary  was  find- 
ing herself  unable  to  cope.  “ I would  rather  be  killed 
than  humiliated  by  Mr.  Meeker.” 

Whereupon  she  flew  out  of  the  room  and  upstairs, 
where  old  Catherine,  in  dismay,  found  her  sobbing  a little 
later. 

Poor  Aunt  Mary  ! Few  people  guessed  the  spirit 
which  was  bound  up  in  her,  aching  to  extend  its  sym- 
pathy and  not  knowing  how,  save  by  an  unswerving  and 
undemonstrative  devotion.  Her  words  of  comfort  were 
as  few  as  her  silent  deeds  were  many. 

But  Honora  continued  to  go  to  the  dancing  class,  where 
she  treated  Mr.  Meeker  with  a hauteur  that  astonished  him, 
amused  Virginia  Hayden,  and  perplexed  Cousin  Eleanor. 
Mr.  Meeker’s  cringing  soul  responded,  and  in  a month 
Honora  was  the  leading  spirit  of  the  class,  led  the  marches, 
and  was  pointed  out  by  the  little  dancing  master  as  all 
that  a lady  should  be  in  deportment  and  bearing. 

This  treatment,  which  succeeded  so  well  in  Mr.  Meeker’s 
case,  Honora  had  previously  applied  to  others  of  his  sex. 
Like  most  people  with  a future,  she  began  young.  Of 
late,  for  instance,  Mr.  George  Hanbury  had  shown  a 
tendency  to  regard  her  as  his  personal  property ; for 
George  had  a high-handed  way  with  him,  — boys  being 
an  enigma  to  his  mother.  Even  in  those  days  he  had 
a bullet  head  and  a red  face  and  square  shoulders,  and 
was  rather  undersized  for  his  age  — which  was  Honora’s. 


36 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


Needless  to  say,  George  did  not  approve  of  the  dancing 
class  ; and  let  it  be  known,  both  by  words  and  deeds, 
that  he  was  there  under  protest.  Nor  did  he  regard  with 
favour  Honora’s  triumphal  progress,  but  sat  in  a corner 
with  several  congenial  spirits  whose  feelings  ranged  from 
scorn  to  despair,  commenting  in  loud  whispers  upon  those 
of  his  sex  to  whom  the  terpsichorean  art  came  more 
naturally.  Upon  one  Algernon  Cartwright,  for  example, 
whose  striking  likeness  to  the  Van  Dyck  portrait  of  a 
young  king  had  been  more  than  once  commented  upon  by 
his  elders,  and  whose  velveteen  suits  enhanced  the  resem- 
blance. Algernon,  by  the  way,  was  the  favourite  male 
pupil  of  Mr.  Meeker  ; and,  on  occasions,  Algernon  and 
Honora  were  called  upon  to  give  exhibitions  for  the 
others,  the  sight  of  which  filled  George  with  contemptuous 
rage.  Algernon  danced  altogether  too  much  with  Honora, 
— so  George  informed  his  cousin. 

The  simple  result  of  George’s  protests  was  to  make 
Honora  dance  with  Algernon  the  more,  evincing,  even  at 
this  period  of  her  career,  a commendable  determination  to 
resent  dictation.  George  should  have  lived  in  the  Middle 
Ages,  when  the  spirit  of  modern  American  womanhood 
was  as  yet  unborn.  Once  he  contrived,  by  main  force,  to 
drag  her  out  into  the  hall. 

44  George,”  she  said,  64  perhaps,  if  you’d  let  me  alone  — 
perhaps  I’d  like  you  better.” 

44  Perhaps,”  he  retorted  fiercely,  44  if  you  wouldn’t  make 
a fool  of  yourself  with  those  mother’s  darlings,  I’d  like 
you  better.” 

44  George,”  said  Honora,  44  learn  to  dance.” 

44  Never  ! ” he  cried,  but  she  was  gone.  While  hover- 
ing around  the  door  he  heard  Mrs.  Hayden’s  voice. 

44  Unless  I am  tremendously  mistaken,  my  dear,”  that 
lady  was  remarking  to  Mrs.  Dwyer,  whose  daughter 
Emily’s  future  millions  were  powerless  to  compel  youths 
of  fourteen  to  dance  with  her,  although  she  is  now  happily 
married,  “unless  I am  mistaken,  Honora  will  have  a 
career.  The  child  will  be  a raving  beauty.  And  she  has 
to  perfection  the  art  of  managing  men.” 


OF  TEMPERAMENT 


37 


44  As  her  father  had  the  art  of  managing  women,”  said 
Mrs.  Dwyer.  44  Dear  me,  how  well  I remember  Randolph! 
I would  have  followed  him  to  — to  Cheyenne.” 

Mrs.  Hayden  laughed.  44  He  never  would  have  gone  to 
Cheyenne,  I imagine,”  she  said. 

44  He  never  looked  at  me,  and  I have  reason  to  be  pro- 
foundly thankful  for  it,”  said  Mrs.  Dwyer. 

Virginia  Hayden  bit  her  lip.  She  remembered  a saying 
of  Mrs.  Brice,  44  Blessed  are  the  ugly,  for  they  shall  not  be 
tempted.” 

44  They  say  that  poor  Tom  Leffingwell  has  not  yet 
finished  paying  his  debts,”  continued  Mrs.  Dwyer,  44  al- 
though his  uncle,  Eleanor  Hanbury’s  father,  cancelled 
what  Randolph  had  had  from  him  in  his  will.  It  was 
twenty-five  thousand  dollars.  James  Hanbury,  you  re- 
member, had  him  appointed  consul  at  Nice.  Randolph 
Leffingwell  gave  the  impression  of  conferring  a favour 
when  he  borrowed  money.  I cannot  understand  why 
he  married  that  penniless  and  empty-headed  beauty.” 

44  Perhaps,”  said  Mrs.  Hayden,  44  it  was  because  of  his 
ability  to  borrow  money  that  he  felt  he  could  afford  to.” 
The  eyes  of  the  two  ladies  unconsciously  followed 
Honora  about  the  room. 

44 1 never  knew  a better  or  a more  honest  woman  than 
Mary  Leffingwell,  but  I tremble  for  her.  She  is  utterly 
incapable  of  managing  that  child.  If  Honora  is  a com- 
plicated mechanism  now,  what  will  she  be  at  twenty? 
She  has  elements  in  her  which  poor  Mary  never  dreamed 
of.  I overheard  her  with  Emily,  and  she  talks  like  a 
grown-up  person.” 

Mrs.  Hayden’s  dimples  deepened. 

“Better  than  some  grown-up  women,”  she  said.  44 She 
sat  in  my  room  while  1 dressed  the  other  afternoon.  Mrs. 
Leffingwell  had  sent  her  with  a note  about  that  French 
governess.  And,  by  the  way,  she  speaks  French  as  though 
she  had  lived  in  Paris.” 

Little  Mrs.  Dwyer  raised  her  hands  in  protest. 

44  It  doesn’t  seem  natural,  somehow.  It  doesn’t  seem 
exactly  — moral,  my  dear.” 


38 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


“Nonsense,”  said  Mrs.  Hayden.  “Mrs.  Leffingwell  is 
only  giving  the  child  the  advantages  which  her  companions 
have  — Emily  has  French,  hasn’t  she  ? ” 

“But  Emily  can’t  speak  it  — that  way,”  said  Mrs. 
Dwyer.  “ I don’t  blame  Mary  Leffingwell.  She  thinks 
she  is  doing  her  duty,  but  it  has  always  seemed  to  me  that 
Honora  was  one  of  those  children  who  would  better  have 
been  brought  up  on  bread  and  butter  and  jam.” 

“ Honora  would  only  have  eaten  the  jam,”  said  Mrs. 
Hayden.  “ But  I love  her,” 

“ I,  too,  am  fond  of  the  child,  but  I tremble  for  her.  I 
am  afraid  she  has  that  terrible  thing  which  is  called 
temperament.” 

George  Hanbury  made  a second  heroic  rush,  and  dragged 
Honora  out  once  more. 

“ What  is  this  disease  you’ve  got  ?”  he  demanded. 

“ Disease  ?”  she  cried;  “ I haven’t  any  disease.” 

“ Mrs  Dwyer  says  you  have  temperament,  and  that  it  is 
a terrible  thing.” 

Honora  stopped  him  in  a corner. 

“ Because  people  like  Mrs.  Dwyer  haven’t  got  it,”  she 
declared,  with  a warmth  which  George  found  inexplicable. 

“ What  is  it  ? ” he  demanded. 

“You’ll  never  know,  either,  George,  ” she  answered  ; 
“ it’s  soul.” 

“Soul!”  he  repeated;  “I  have  one,  and  its  immortal,” 
he  added  promptly. 


In  the  summer,  that  season  of  desolation  for  Honora, 
when  George  Hanbury  and  Algernon  Cartwright  and 
other  young  gentlemen  were  at  the  seashore  learning  to 
sail  boats  and  to  play  tennis,  Peter  Erwin  came  to  his  own. 
Nearly  every  evening  after  dinner,  while  the  light  was 
still  lingering  under  the  shade  trees  of  the  street,  and 
Aunt  Mary  still  placidly  sewing  in  the  wicker  chair  on 
the  lawn,  and  Uncle  Tom  making  the  tour  of  flowers  with 
his  watering  pot,  the  gate  would  slam,  and  Peter’s  tall 
form  appear. 


OF  TEMPERAMENT 


39 


It  never  occurred  to  Honora  that  had  it  not  been  for 
Peter  those  evenings  would  have  been  even  less  bearable 
than  they  were.  To  sit  indoors  with  a light  and  read  in 

a St.  Louis 
midsummer 
was  not  to  be 
thought  of. 
Peter  played 
backgammon 
with  her  on 
the  front 
steps,  and 
later  on — 
chess.  Some- 
times they 
went  for  a 
walk  as  far  as 
Grand  Avenue.  And 
sometimes  — when  Ho- 
nora grew  older  — she 
was  permitted  to  go  with  him 
to  Uhrig’s  Cave.  Those  were 
memorable  occasions  indeed! 
What  Saint  Louisan  of  the 
last  generation  does  not  remember 
Uhrig’s  Cave  ? nor  look  without  re- 
gret upon  the  thing  which  has  re- 
placed it,  called  a Coliseum  ? The 
very  name,  Uhrig’s  Cave,  sent  a shiver 
of  delight  down  one’s  spine,  and  many 
were  the  conjectures  one  made  as  to 
what  might  be  enclosed  in  that  half  a 
block  of  impassible  brick  wall,  over 
which  the  great  trees  stretched  their  branches.  Honora, 
from  comparative  infancy,  had  her  own  theory,  which  so 
possessed  the  mind  of  Edith  Hanbury  that  she  would  not 
look  at  the  wall  when  they  passed  in  the  carriage.  It  was 
a still  and  sombre  place  by  day;  and  sometimes,  if  you 
listened,  you  could  hear  the  whisperings  of  the  forty 


40 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


thieves  on  the  other  side  of  the  wall.  But  no  one  had 
ever  dared  to  cry  “ Open,  Sesame!  ” at  the  great  wooden 
gates. 

At  night,  in  the  warm  season,  when  well  brought  up 
children  were  at  home  or  at  the  seashore,  strange  things 
were  said  to  happen  at  Uhrig’s  Cave. 

Honora  was  a tall  slip  of  a girl  of  sixteen  before  it  was 
given  her  to  know  these  mysteries,  and  the  Ali  Baba 
theory  a thing  of  the  past.  Other  theories  had  replaced 
it.  Nevertheless  she  clung  tightly  to  Peter’s  arm  as 
they  walked  down  Locust  Street  and  came  in  sight  of  the 
wall.  Above  it,  and  under  the  big  trees,  shone  a thou- 
sand glittering  lights:  there  was  a crowd  at  the  gate,  and 
instead  of  saying,  “ Open,  Sesame,”  Peter  slipped  two 
bright  fifty-cent  pieces  to  the  red-faced  German  ticket- 
man,  and  in  they  went. 

First  and  most  astounding  of  disillusions  of  passing 
childhood,  it  was  not  a cave  at  all!  And  yet  the  word 
“disillusion”  does  not  apply.  It  was,  after  all,  the  most 
enchanting  and  exciting  of  spots,  to  make  one’s  eye  shine 
and  one’s  heart  beat.  Under  the  trees  were  hundreds  of 
tables  surrounded  by  hovering  ministering  angels  in 
white,  and  if  you  were  German,  they  brought  you  beer;  if 
American,  ice-cream.  Beyond  the  tables  was  a stage, 
with  footlights  already  set  and  orchestra  tuning  up,  and 
a curtain  on  which  was  represented  a gentleman  making 
decorous  love  to  a lady  beside  a fountain.  As  in  a dream, 
Honora  followed  Peter  to  a table,  and  he  handed  her  a 
programme. 

“ Oh,  Peter,”  she  cried,  “ it’s  going  to  be  ‘Pinafore’!  ” 

Honora’s  eyes  shone  like  stars,  and  elderly  people  at 
the  neighbouring  tables  turned  more  than  once  to  smile 
at  her  that  evening.  And  Peter  turned  more  than  once 
and  smiled  too.  But  Honora  did  not  consider  Peter. 
He  was  merely  Providence  in  one  of  many  disguises,  and 
Providence  is  accepted  by  his  beneficiaries  as  a matter  of 
fact. 

The  rapture  of  a young  lady  of  temperament  is  a diffi- 
cult thing  to  picture.  The  bird  may  feel  it  as  he  soars, 


OF  TEMPERAMENT 


41 


on  a bright  August  morning,  high  above  amber  cliffs  jut- 
ting out  into  indigo  seas;  the  novelist  may  feel  it  when 
the  four  walls  of  his  room  magically  disappear  and  the 
profound  secrets  of  the  universe  are  on  the  point  of  revealing 
themselves.  Honora  gazed,  and  listened,  and  lost  herself. 
She  was  no  longer  in  Uhrig’s  Cave,  but  in  the  great  world, 
her  soul  a-quiver  with  harmonies. 

44  Pinafore, ’’although  a comic  opera,  held  something  tragic 
for  Honora,  and  opened  the  flood-gates  to  dizzy  sensations 
which  she  did  not  understand.  How  little  Peter,  who 
drummed  on  the  table  to  the  tune  of 

“ Give  three  cheers  and  one  cheer  more 
For  the  hearty  captain  of  the  Pinafore 

imagined  what  was  going  on  beside  him ! There  were  two 
factors  in  his  pleasure ; he  liked  the  music,  and  he  enjoyed 
the  delight  of  Honora. 

What  is  Peter  ? Let  us  cease  looking  at  him  through 
Honora’s  eyes  and  taking  him  like  daily  bread,  to  be  eaten 
and  not  thought  about.  From  one  point  of  view,  he  is 
twenty-nine  and  elderly,  with  a sense  of  humour  unsus- 
pected by  young  persons  of  temperament.  Strive  as  we 
will,  we  have  only  been  able  to  see  him  in  his  r61e  of  Provi- 
dence, or  of  the  piper.  Has  he  no  existence,  no  purpose 
in  life  outside  of  that  perpetual  gentleman  in  waiting  ? 
If  so,  Honora  has  never  considered  it. 

After  the  finale  had  been  sung  and  the  curtain  dropped 
for  the  last  time,  Honora  sighed  and  walked  out  of  the 
garden  as  one  in  a trance.  Once  in  a while,  as  he  found 
a way  for  them  through  the  crowd,  Peter  glanced  down 
at  her,  and  something  like  a smile  tugged  at  the  cor- 
ners of  a decidedly  masculine  mouth,  and  lit  up  his 
eyes.  Suddenly,  at  Locust  Street,  under  the  lamp,  she 
stopped  and  surveyed  him.  She  saw  a very  real,  very 
human  individual,  clad  in  a dark  nondescript  suit  of 
clothes  which  had  been  bought  ready-made,  and  plainly 
without  the  bestowal  of  much  thought,  on  Fifth  Street. 
The  fact  that  they  were  a comparative  fit  was  in  itself  a 
tribute  to  the  enterprise  of  the  Excelsior  Clothing  Com- 


42 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


pany,  for  Honora’s  observation  that  he  was  too  long  one 
way  had  been  just.  He  was  too  tall,  his  shoulders  were  too 
high,  his  nose  too  prominent,  his  eyes  too  deep-set  ; and  he 
wore  a straw  hat  with  the  brim  turned  up. 

To  Honorahis  appearance  was  as  familiar  as  the  picture 
of  the  Pope  which  had  always  stood  on  Catherine’s  bureau. 
But  to-night,  by  grace  of  some  added  power  of  vision,  she 
saw  him  with  new  and  critical  eyes.  She  was  surprised  to 
discover  that  he  was  possessed  of  a quality  with  which 
she  had  never  associated  him  — youth.  Not  to  put  it  too 
strongly  — comparative  youth. 

“ Peter,”  she  demanded,  “ why  do  you  dress  like  that  ? ” 

“ Like  what  ? ” he  said. 

Honora  seized  the  lapel  of  his  coat. 

“ Like  that,”  she  repeated.  “ Do  you  know,  if  you  wore 
different  clothes,  you  might  almost  be  distinguished  look- 
ing. Don’t  laugh.  I think  it’s  horrid  of  you  always  to 
laugh  when  I tell  you  things  for  your  own  good.” 

“It  was  the  idea  of  being  almost  distinguished  look- 
ing that  — that  gave  me  a shock,”  he  assured  her  re- 
pentantly. 

“You  should  dress  on  a different  principle,”  she  in- 
sisted. 

Peter  appeared  dazed. 

“ I couldn’t  do  that,”  he  said. 

“ Why  not?” 

“ Because  — because  I don’t  dress  on  any  principle 
now.” 

“ Yes,  you  do,”  said  Honora,  firmly.  “ You  dress  on  the 
principle  of  the  wild  beasts  and  fishes.  It’s  all  in  our 
natural  history  at  Miss  Farmer’s.  The  crab  is  the  colour 
of  the  seaweed,  and  the  deer  of  the  thicket.  It’s  a device 
of  nature  for  the  protection  of  weak  things.” 

Peter  drew  himself  up  proudly. 

“ I have  always  understood,  Miss  Leffingwell,  that  the 
king  of  beasts  was  somewhere  near  the  shade  of  the 
jungle.” 

Honora  laughed  in  spite  of  this  apparent  refutation  of 
her  theory  of  his  apparel,  and  shook  her  head. 


OF  TEMPERAMENT 


43 


“Do  be  serious,  Peter.  You’d  make  much  more  of  an 
impression  on  people  if  you  wore  clothes  that  had  — well, 
a little  more  distinction.” 

“ What’s  the  use  of  making  an  impression  if  you  can’t 
follow  it  up  ? ” he  said. 

“ You  can,”  she  declared.  “ I never  thought  of  it  until 
to-night,  but  you  must  have  a great  deal  in  you  to  have 
risen  all  the  way  from  an  errand  boy  in  the  bank  to  a law- 
yer.” 

“ Look  out ! ” he  cautioned  her  ; “ I shall  become  insup- 
portably  conceited.” 

“ A little  more  conceit  wouldn’t  hurt  you,”  said  Honora, 
critically.  “You’ll  forgive  me,  Peter,  if  I tell  you  from 
time  to  time  what  I think.  It’s  for  your  own  good.” 

“ I try  to  realize  that,”  replied  Peter,  humbly.  “ How 
do  you  wish  me  to  dress — like  Mr.  Rossiter?” 

The  picture  evoked  of  Peter  arrayed  like  Mr.  Harland 
Rossiter,  who  had  sent  flowers  to  two  generations  and  was 
preparing  to  send  more  to  a third,  was  irresistible.  Every 
city,  hamlet,  and  village  has  its  Harland  Rossiter.  He 
need  not  be  explained.  But  Honora  soon  became  grave 
again. 

“No,  but  you  ought  to  dress  as  though  you  were  some- 
body, and  different  from  the  ordinary  man  on  the 
street.” 

“ But  I’m  not,”  objected  Peter. 

“ Oh,”  cried  Honora,  “ don’t  you  want  to  be  ? I can’t 
understand  any  man  not  wanting  to  be.  If  I were  a man, 
I wouldn’t  stay  here  a day  longer  than  I had  to.” 

Peter  was  silent  as  they  went  in  at  the  gate  and  opened 
the  door,  for  on  this  festive  occasion  they  were  provided 
with  a latchkey.  He  turned  up  the  light  in  the  hall  to  be- 
hold a transformation  quite  as  wonderful  as  any  contained 
in  the  “Arabian  Nights”  or  Keightley’s  “Fairy  Mythol- 
ogy.” This  was  not  the  Honora  with  whom  he  had  left 
the  house  scarce  three  hours  before  ! The  cambric  dress, 
to  be  sure,  was  still  no  longer  than  the  tops  of  her  ankles, 
and  the  hair  still  hung  in  a heavy  braid  down  her  back, 
These  were  positively  all  that  remained  of  the  original 


44 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


Honora,  and  the  change  had  occurred  in  the  incredibly 
brief  space  required  for  the  production  of  the  opera  “Pina- 
fore.” This  Honora  was  a woman  in  a strange  and  dis- 
turbing state  of  exaltation,  whose  eyes  beheld  a vision. 
And  Peter,  although  he  had  been  the  subject  of  her  con- 
versation, well  knew  that  he  was  not  included  in  the 
vision.  He  smiled  a little  as  he  looked  at  her.  It  is  be- 
coming apparent  that  he  is  one  of  those  unfortunate  un 
imaginative  beings  incapable  of  great  illusions. 

“ You’re  not  going!”  she  exclaimed. 

He  glanced  significantly  at  the  hall  clock. 

“ Why,  it’s  long  after  bedtime,  Honora.” 

“ I don’t  want  to  go  to  bed.  I feel  like  talking,”  she 
declared.  “ Come,  let’s  sit  on  the  steps  awhile.  If  you 
go  home,  I shan’t  go  to  sleep  for  hours,  Peter.” 

“And  what  would  Aunt  Mary  say  to  me?”  he  inquired. 
“ Oh,  she  wouldn’t  care.  She  wouldn’t  even  know  it.” 
He  shook  his  head,  still  smiling. 

“ I’d  never  be  allowed  to  take  you  to  Uhrig’s  Cave,  or 
anywhere  else,  again,”  he  replied.  “ I’ll  come  to-morrow 
evening,  and  you  can  talk  to  me  then.” 

“ I shan’t  feel  like  it  then,”  she  said  in  a tone  that  im- 
plied his  opportunity  was  now  or  never.  But  seeing  him 
still  obdurate,  with  startling  suddenness  she  flung  her 
arms  around  his  neck  — a method  which  at  times  had  suc- 
ceeded marvellously  — and  pleaded  coaxingly:  “ Only  a 
quarter  of  an  hour,  Peter.  I’ve  got  so  many  things  to  say, 
and  I know  I shall  forget  them  by  to-morrow.” 

It  was  a night  of  wonders.  To  her  astonishment  the 
hitherto  pliant  Peter,  who  only  existed  in  order  to  do  her 
will,  became  transformed  into  a brusque  masculine  creature 
which  she  did  not  recognize.  With  a movement  that  was 
almost  rough  he  released  himself  and  fled,  calling  back  a 
“good  night”  to  her  out  of  the  darkness.  He  did  not  even 
wait  to  assist  her  in  the  process  of  locking  up.  Honora, 
profoundly  puzzled,  stood  for  a while  in  the  doorway  gaz- 
ing out  into  the  night.  When  at  length  she  turned,  she 
had  forgotten  him  entirely. 

It  was  true  that  she  did  not  sleep  for  hours,  and  on 


OF  TEMPERAMENT 


45 


awaking  the  next  morning  another  phenomenon  awaited 
her.  The  ‘Tittle  house  under  the  hill”  was  immeasurably 
shrunken.  Poor  Aunt 
Mary,  who  did  not  under- 
stand that  a performance 
of  “ Pinafore  ” could  give 
birth  to  the  unfulfilled 
longings  which  result  in 
the  creation  of  high  things, 
spoke  to  Uncle  Tom  a week 
later  concerning  ail  aston- 
ishing and  apparently  ab- 
normal access  of  industry. 

“ She’s  been  reading  all 
day  long,  Tom,  or  else 
shut  up  in  her  room,  where 
Catherine  tells  me  she  is 
writing.  I’m  afraid 
Eleanor  Hanbury  is  right 
when  she  says  I don’t 
understand  the  child. 

And  yet  she  is  the  same  to 
me  as  though  she  were  my 
own.” 

It  was  true  that  Honora 
was  writing,  and  that  the 
door  was  shut,  and  that 
she  did  not  feel  the  heat. 

In  one  of  the  bookcases 
she  had  chanced  upon  that 
immortal  biography  of  Dr.  , 

Johnson,  and  upon  the  { 
letters  of  another  prodigy 
of  her  own  sex,  Madame 
d’Arblay,  whose  romantic 
debut  as  an  authoress  was 
an  inspiration  in  itself.  Honora  actually  quivered  when 
she  read  of  Dr.  Johnson’s  first  conversation  with  Miss 
Burney.  To  write  a book  of  the  existence  of  which  even 


46 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


one’s  own  family  did  not  know,  to  publish  it  under  a nom 
de  plume,  and  to  awake  one  day  to  fetes  and  fame  would 
be  indeed  to  live  ! 

Unfortunately  Honora’s  novel  no  longer  exists,  or  the 
world  might  have  discovered  a second  Evelina.  A regard 
for  truth  compels  the  statement  that  it  was  never  finished. 
But  what  rapture  while  the  fever  lasted  ! Merely  to  take 
up  the  pen  was  to  pass  magically  through  marble  portals 
into  the  great  world  itself. 

The  Sir  Charles  Grandison  of  this  novel  was,  needless 
to  say,  not  Peter  Erwin.  He  was  none  other  than  Mr. 
Randolph  Leffingwell,  under  a very  thin  disguise. 


CHAPTER  V 


IN  WHICH  PKOVIDENCE  KEEPS  FAITH 

Two  more  years  have  gone  by,  limping  in  the  summer 
and  flying  in  the  winter,  two  more  years  of  conquests. 
For  our  heroine  appears  to  be  one  of  the  daughters  of 
Helen,  born  to  make  trouble  for  warriors  and  others  — 
and  even  for  innocent  bystanders  like  Peter  Erwin.  Peter 
was  debarred  from  entering  those  brilliant  lists  in  which 
apparel  played  so  great  a part.  George  Hanbury,  Guy 
Rossiter,  Algernon  Cartwright,  Eliphalet  Hopper  Dwyer  — 
familiarly  known  as  “ Hoppy  ” — and  other  young  gentle- 
men whose  names  are  now  but  memories,  each  had  his 
brief  day  of  triumph.  Arrayed  like  Solomon  in  wonder- 
ful clothes  from  the  mysterious  and  luxurious  East,  they 
returned  at  Christmas-tide  and  Easter  from  college  to 
break  lances  over  Honora.  Let  us  say  it  boldly — she  was 
like  that : she  had  the  world-old  knack  of  sowing  discord 
and  despair  in  the  souls  of  young  men.  She  was  — as 
those  who  had  known  that  fascinating  gentleman  were 
not  slow  to  remark  — Randolph  Leffingwell  over  again. 

During  the  festival  seasons,  Uncle  Tom  averred,  they 
wore  out  the  latch  on  the  front  gate.  If  their  families 
possessed  horses  to  spare,  they  took  Honora  driving  in 
Forest  Park  ; they  escorted  her  to  those  anomalous  dances 
peculiar  to  their  innocent  age,  which  are  neither  children’s 
parties  nor  full-fledged  balls ; their  presents,  while  of  no 
intrinsic  value  — as  one  young  gentleman  said  in  a pres- 
entation speech  — had  an  enormous,  if  shy,  significance. 

“What  a beautiful  ring  you  are  wearing,  Honora,” 
Uncle  Tom  remarked  slyly  one  April  morning  at  break- 
fast ; “let  me  see  it.” 

Honora  blushed,  and  hid  her  hand  under  the  table-cloth. 

47 


48 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


And  the  ring  — suffice  it  to  say  that  her  little  finger 
was  exactly  insertable  in  a ten-cent  piece  from  which 
everything  had  been  removed  but  the  milling : removed 
with  infinite  loving  patience  by  Mr.  Rossiter,  and  at  the 
expense  of  much  history  and  philosophy  and  other  less 
important  things,  in  his  college  bedroom  at  New  Haven. 
Honora  wrore  it  for  a whole  week ; a triumph  indeed 
for  Mr.  Rossiter;  when  it  was  placed  in  a box  in  Ho- 
n ora’s  bedroom,  which  contained  other  gifts  — not  all 
from  him — and  many  letters,  in  the  writing  of  which 
learning  had  likewise  suffered.  The  immediate  cause  of 
the  putting  away  of  this  ring  was  said  to  be  the  re- 
nowned Clinton  Howe,  who  was  on  the  Harvard  football 
eleven,  and  who  visited  Mr.  George  Hanbury  that  Easter. 
Fortunate  indeed  the  tailor  who  was  called  upon  to  prac- 
tise his  art  on  an  Adonis  like  Mr.  Howe,  and  it  was  re- 
marked that  he  scarcely  left  Honora’s  side  at  the  garden 
party  and  dance  which  Mrs.  Dwyer  gave  in  honour  of  the 
returning  heroes,  on  the  Monday  of  Easter  week. 

This  festival,  on  which  we  should  like  to  linger,  but 
cannot,  took  place  at  the  new  Dwyer  residence.  For  six 
months  the  Victorian  mansion  opposite  Uncle  Tom’s  house 
had  been  sightless,  with  blue  blinds  drawn  down  inside 
the  plate  glass  windows.  And  the  yellow  stone  itself  was 
not  so  yellow  as  it  once  had  been,  but  had  now  the  ap- 
pearance of  soiled  manilla  wrapping  paper,  with  black 
streaks  here  and  there  where  the  soot  had  run.  The  new 
Dwyer  house  was  of  grey  stone,  Georgian  and  palatial, 
with  a picture-gallery  twice  the  size  of  the  old  one;  a 
magnificent  and  fitting  pioneer  in  a new  city  of  palaces. 

Westward  the  star  of  Empire  — away  from  the  smoke. 
The  Dwyer  mansion,  with  its  lawns  and  gardens  and 
heavily  balustraded  terrace,  faced  the  park  that  stretched 
away  like  a private  estate  to  the  south  and  west.  That 
same  park  with  its  huge  trees  and  black  forests  that  was 
Ultima  Thule  in  Honora’s  childhood  ; in  the  open  places 
there  had  been  real  farms  and  hayricks  which  she  used  to 
slide  down  with  Peter  while  Uncle  Tom  looked  for  wild 
flowers  in  the  fields.  It  had  been  separated  from  the  city 


IN  WHICH  PROVIDENCE  KEEPS  FAITH  49 


in  those  days  by  an  endless  country  road,  like  a Via 
Claudia  stretching  towards  mysterious  Germanian  forests, 
and  it  was  deemed  a feat  for  Peter  to  ride  thither  on 
his  big-wheeled  bicycle.  Forest  Park  was  the  country, 
and  all  that  the  country  represented  in  Honora’s  child- 
hood. For  Uncle  Tom  on  a summer’s  day  to  hire  a 
surrey  at  Braintree’s  Livery  Stable  and  drive  thither 
was  like  — to  what  shall  that  bliss  be  compared  in  these 
days  when  we  go  to  Europe  with  indifference  ? 

And  now  Lindell  Road  — the  Via  Claudia  of  long  ago 
— had  become  Lindell  Boulevard,  with  granitoid  side- 
walks. And  the  dreary  fields  through  which  it  had 
formerly  run  were  bristling  with  new  houses  in  no 
sense  Victorian,  and  which  were  the  first  stirrings  of 
a national  sense  of  the  artistic.  The  old  horse-cars 
with  the  clanging  chains  had  disappeared,  and  you  could 
take  an  electric  to  within  a block  of  the  imposing  grille 
that  surrounded  the  Dwyer  grounds.  Westward  the 
star ! 

Fading  fast  was  the  glory  of  that  bright  new  district 
on  top  of  the  second  hill  from  the  river  where  Uncle  Tom 
was  a pioneer.  Soot  had  killed  the  pear  trees,  the  apri- 
cots behind  the  lattice  fence  had  withered  away  ; asphalt 
and  soot  were  slqwly  sapping  the  vitality  of  the  maples  on 
the  sidewalk  ; and  sometimes  Uncle  Tom’s  roses  looked 
as  though  they  might  advantageously  be  given  a coat  of 
paint,  like  those  in  Alice  in  Wonderland.  Honora  should 
have  lived  in  the  Dwyers’  mansion  — people  who  are  capa- 
ble of  judging  said  so.  People  who  saw  her  at  the  garden 
party  said  she  had  the  air  of  belonging  in  such  surround- 
ings much  more  than  Emily,  whom  even  budding  woman- 
hood had  not  made  beautiful.  And  Eliphalet  Hopper 
Dwyer,  if  his  actions  meant  anything,  would  have  wel- 
comed her  to  that  house,  or  built  her  another  twice  as  fine, 
had  she  deigned  to  give  him  the  least  encouragement. 

Cinderella  ! This  was  what  she  facetiously  called  her- 
self one  July  morning  of  that  summer  she  was  eighteen. 
Cinderella  in  more  senses  than  one,  for  never  had  the  city 
seemed  more  dirty  or  more  deserted,  or  indeed,  more 


50 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


stifling.  Winter  and  its  festivities  were  a dream  laid 
away  in  moth  balls.  Surely  Cinderella’s  life  had  held  no 
greater  contrasts  ! To  this  day  the  odour  of  matting 
brings  back  to  Honora  the  sense  of  closed  shutters  ; of  a 
stifling  south  wind  stirring  their  slats  at  noonday  ; the 
vision  of  Aunt  Mary,  cool  and  placid  in  a cambric  sacque, 
sewing  by  the  window  in  the  upper  hall,  and  the  sound  of 
fruit  venders  crying  in  the  street,  or  of  ragmen  in  the 
alley  — 44  Rags,  bottles,  old  iron  ! ” What  memories  of 
endless,  burning,  lonely  days  come  rushing  back  with 
those  words  ! 

When  the  sun  had  sufficiently  heated  the  bricks  of  the 
surrounding  houses  in  order  that  he  might  not  be  for- 
gotten during  the  night,  he  slowly  departed.  If  Honora 
took  her  book  under  the  maple  tree  in  the  yard,  she  was 
confronted  with  that  hideous  wooden  sign  44  To  Let  ” on 
the  Dwyer’s  iron  fence  opposite,  and  the  grass  behind 
it  was  unkempt  and  overgrown  with  weeds.  Aunt  Mary 
took  an  unceasing  and  (to  Honora’s  mind)  morbid  interest 
in  the  future  of  that  house. 

a I suppose  it  will  be  a boarding-house,”  she  would  say, 
44  it’s  much  too  large  for  poor  people  to  rent,  and  only 
poor  people  are  coming  into  this  district  now.” 

44  Oh,  Aunt  Mary  ! ” 

44  Well,  my  dear,  why  should  we  complain?  We  are 
poor,  and  it  is  appropriate  that  we  should  live  among  the 
poor.  Sometimes  I think  it  is  a pity  that  you  should 
have  been  thrown  all  your  life  with  rich  people,  my  child. 
I am  afraid  it  has  made  you  discontented.  It  is  no  dis- 
grace to  be  poor.  We  ought  to  be  thankful  that  we  have 
everything  we  need.” 

Honora  put  down  her  sewing.  For  she  had  learned  to 
sew  — Aunt  Mary  had  insisted  upon  that,  as  well  as 
French.  She  laid  her  hand  upon  her  aunt’s. 

44 1 am  thankful,”  she  said,  and  her  aunt  little  guessed 
the  intensity  of  the  emotion  she  was  seeking  to  control,  or 
imagined  the  hidden  fires.  44  But  sometimes  — some- 
times I try  to  forget  that  we  are  poor.  Perhaps  — some 
day  we  shall  not  be.” 


IN  WHICH  PROVIDENCE  KEEPS  FAITH  51 


It  seemed  to  Honora  that  Aunt  Mary  derived  a real 
pleasure  from  the  contradiction  of  this  hope.  She  shook 
her  head  vigorously. 

“We  shall  always  be,  my  child.  Your  Uncle  Tom  is 
getting  old,  and  he  has  always  been  too  honest  to  make  a 
great  deal  of  money.  And  besides,”  she  added,  “ he  has 
not  that  kind  of  ability.” 

Uncle  Tom  might  be  getting  old,  but  he  seemed  to 
Honora  to  be  of  the  same  age  as  in  her  childhood.  Some 
people  never  grow  old,  and  Uncle  Tom  was  one  of  these. 
Fifteen  years  before  he  had  been  promoted  to  be  the 
cashier  of  the  Prairie  Bank,  and  he  was  the  cashier  to-day. 
He  had  the  same  quiet  smile,  the  same  quiet  humour,  the 
same  calm  acceptance  of  life.  He  seemed  to  bear  no 
grudge  even  against  that  ever  advancing  enemy,  the  soot, 
which  made  it  increasingly  difficult  for  him  to  raise  his 
flowers.  Those  which  would  still  grow  he  washed  ten- 
derly night  and  morning  with  his  watering-pot.  The 
greatest  wonders  are  not  at  the  ends  of  the  earth,  but 
near  us.  It  was  to  take  many  years  for  our  heroine  to 
realize  this. 

Strong  faith  alone  could  have  withstood  the  continued 
contact  with  such  a determined  fatalism  as  Aunt  Mary’s, 
and  yet  it  is  interesting  to  note  that  Honora’s  belief  in 
her  providence  never  wavered.  A prince  was  to  come 
who  was  to  bear  her  away  from  the  ragmen  and  the 
boarding-houses  and  the  soot:  and  incidentally  and  in 
spite  of  herself,  Aunt  Mary  was  to  come  too,  and  Uncle 
Tom.  And  sometimes  when  she  sat  reading  of  an  evening 
under  the  maple,  her  book  would  fall  to  her  lap  and  the 
advent  of  this  personage  become  so  real  a thing  that  she 
bounded  when  the  gate  slammed  — to  find  that  it  was 
only  Peter. 

It  was  preposterous,  of  course,  that  Peter  should  be  a 
prince  in  disguise.  Peter  who,  despite  her  efforts  to 
teach  him  distinction  in  dress,  insisted  upon  wearing  the 
same  kind  of  clothes.  A mild  kind  of  providence,  Peter, 
whose  modest  functions  were  not  unlike  those  of  the  third 
horse  which  used  to  be  hitched  on  to  the  street  car  at  the 


52 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


foot  of  the  Seventeenth-Street  hill:  it  was  Peter’s  task  to 
help  pull  Honora  through  the  interminable  summers. 
Uhrig’s  Cave  was  an  old  story  now:  mysteries  were  no 
longer  to  be  expected  in  St.  Louis.  There  was  a great 
panorama  — or  something  to  that  effect  — in  the  wilder- 
ness at  the  end  of  one  of  the  new  electric  lines,  where  they 
sometimes  went  to  behold  the  White  Squadron  of  the  new 
United  States  Navy  engaged  in  battle  with  mimic  forts 
on  a mimic  sea,  on  the  very  site  where  the  country  place 
of  Madame  Clement  had  been.  The  mimic  sea,  sur- 
rounded by  wooden  stands  filled  with  common  people 
eating  peanuts  and  popcorn,  was  none  other  than  Madame 
Clement’s  pond,  which  Honora  remembered  as  a spot  of 
enchantment.  And  they  went  out  in  the  open  cars  with 
these  same  people,  who  stared  at  Honora  as  though  she 
had  got  in  by  mistake,  but  always  politely  gave  her  a seat. 
And  Peter  thanked  them.  Sometimes  he  fell  into  conver- 
sations with  them,  and  it  was  noticeable  that  they  nearly 
always  shook  hands  with  him  at  parting.  Honora  did  not 
approve  of  this  familiarity. 

“ But  they  may  be  clients  some  day,”  he  argued  — a 
frivolous  answer  to  which  she  never  deigned  to  reply. 

Just  as  one  used  to  take  for  granted  that  third  horse 
which  pulled  the  car  uphill,  so  Peter  was  taken  for 
granted.  He  might  have  been  on  the  highroad  to  a re- 
nown like  that  of  Chief  Justice  Marshall,  and  Honora  had 
been  none  the  wiser. 

“Well,  Peter,”  said  Uncle  Tom  at  dinner  one  evening 
of  that  memorable  summer,  when  Aunt  Mary  was  helping 
the  blackberries,  and  incidentally  deploring  that  she  did 
not  live  in  the  country,  because  of  the  cream  one  got  there, 
“ I saw  J udge  Brice  in  the  bank  to-day,  and  he  tells  me 
you  covered  yourself  with  glory  in  that  iron  foundry  suit.” 

“The  Judge  must  have  his  little  joke,  Mr.  Leffingwell,” 
replied  Peter,  but  he  reddened  nevertheless. 

Honora  thought  winning  an  iron  foundry  suit  a strange 
way  to  cover  one’s  self  with  glory.  It  was  not,  at  any 
rate,  her  idea  of  glory.  What  were  lawyers  for,  if  not  to 
win  suits?  And  Peter  was  a lawyer. 


IN  WHICH  PROVIDENCE  KEEPS  FAITH  53 


“In  five  years,”  said  Uncle  Tom,  “the  firm  will  be 
Brice  and  Erwin.  You  mark  my  words.  And  by  that 
time,”  he  added,  with  a twinkle  in  his  eye,  “ you’ll  be  ready 
to  marry  Honora.” 

“Tom,”  reproved  Aunt  Mary,  gently,  “you  oughtn’t  to 
say  such  things.” 

This  time  there  was  no  doubt  about  Peter’s  blush.  He 
fairly  burned.  Honora  looked  at  him  and  laughed. 

“ Peter  is  meant  for  an  old  bachelor,”  she  said. 

“ If  he  remains  a bachelor,”  said  Uncle  Tom,  “he’ll  be 
the  greatest  waste  of  good  material  I know  of.  And  if 
you  succeed  in  getting  him,  Honora,  you’ll  be  the  luckiest 
young  woman  of  my  acquaintance.” 

“Tom,”  said  Aunt  Mary,  “it  was  all  very  well  to  talk 
that  way  when  Honora  was  a child.  But  now — she  may 
not  wish  to  marry  Peter.  And  Peter  may  not  wish  to 
marry  her.” 

Even  Peter  joined  in  the  laughter  at  this  literal  and 
characteristic  statement  of  the  case. 

“ It’s  more  than  likely,”  said  Honora,  wickedly.  “ He 
hasn’t  kissed  me  for  two  years.” 

“ Why,  Peter,  ” said  Uncle  Tom,  “ you  act  as  though  it 
were  warm  to-night.  It  was  only  seventy  when  we  came 
in  to  dinner.” 

“ Take  me  out  to  the  park,”  commanded  Honora. 

“ Tom,”  said  Aunt  Mary,  as  she  stood  on  the  step  and 
watched  them  cross  the  street,  “ I wish  the  child  would 
marry  him.  Not  now,  of  course,”  she  added  hastily,  a 
little  frightened  by  her  own  admission,  “ but  later.  Some- 
times I worry  over  her  future.  She  needs  a strong  and 
sensible  man.  I don’t  understand  Honora.  I never  did. 
I always  told  you  so.  Sometimes  I think  she  may  be 
capable  of  doing  something  foolish  like  — like  Ran- 
dolph.” 

Uncle  Tom  patted  his  wife  on  the  shoulder. 

“ Don’t  borrow  trouble,  Mary,”  he  said,  smiling  a little. 
“ The  child  is  only  full  of  spirits.  But  she  has  a good 
heart.  It  is  only  human  that  she  should  want  things  that 
we  cannot  give  her.” 


54 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


“ I wish,”  said  Aunt  Mary,  “ that  she  were  not  quite  so 
good-looking.” 


Uncle  Tom  laughed. 

“You  needn’t  tell  me  you’re  not  proud  of  it,”  he  de- 
clared. 


IN  WHICH  PROVIDENCE  KEEPS  FAITH  55 


“ And  I have  given  her,”  she  continued,  “ a taste  for 
dress.” 

“ I think,  my  dear,”  said  her  husband,  “ that  there  were 
others  who  contributed  to  that.” 

“ It  was  my  own  vanity.  I should  have  combated  the 
tendency  in  her,”  said  Aunt  Mary. 

“ If  you  had  dressed  Honora  in  calico,  you  could  not 
have  changed  her,”  replied  Uncle  Tom,  with  conviction. 

In  the  meantime  Honora  and  Peter  had  mounted  the 
electric  car,  and  were  speeding  westward.  They  had  a 
seat  to  themselves,  the  very  first  one  on  the  “ grip  ” — that 
survival  of  the  days  of  cable  cars.  Honora’s  eyes  bright- 
ened as  she  held  on  to  her  hat,  and  the  stray  wisps  of  hair 
about  her  neck  stirred  in  the  breeze. 

“ Oh,  I wish  we  would  never  stop,  until  we  came  to  the 
Pacific  Ocean!  ” she  exclaimed. 

“Would  you  be  content  to  stop  then  ? ” he  asked.  He 
had  a trick  of  looking  downward  with  a quizzical  expres- 
sion in  his  dark  grey  eyes. 

“No,”  said  Honora.  “ I should  want  to  go  on  and  see 
everything  in  the  world  worth  seeing.  Sometimes  I feel 
positively  as  though  I should  die  if  I had  to  stay  here  in 
St.  Louis.” 

“ You  probably  would  die  — eventually,”  said  Peter. 

Honora  was  justifiably  irritated. 

“ I could  shake  you,  Peter!  ” 

He  laughed. 

“ I’m  afraid  it  wouldn’t  do  any  good,”  he  answered. 

“ If  I were  a man,”  she  proclaimed,  “ I shouldn’t  stay 
here.  I’d  go  to  New  York  — I’d  be  somebody  — I’d  make 
a national  reputation  for  myself.” 

“ I believe  you  would,”  said  Peter  sadly,  but  with  a 
glance  of  admiration. 

“ That’s  the  worst  of  being  a woman  — we  have  to  sit 
still  until  something  happens  to  us.” 

“ What  would  you  like  to  happen  ? ” he  asked,  curiously. 
And  there  was  a note  in  his  voice  which  she,  intent  upon 
her  thoughts,  did  not  remark. 

“ Oh,  I don’t  know,”  she  said  ; “ anything  — anything 


56 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


to  get  out  of  this  rut  and  be  something  in  the  world.  It’s 
dreadful  to  feel  that  one  has  power  and  not  be  able  to  use 
it.” 

The  car  stopped  at  the  terminal.  Thanks  to  the  early 
hour  of  Aunt  Mary’s  dinner,  the  western  sky  was  still 
aglow  with  the  sunset  over  the  forests  as  they  walked  past 
the  closed  grille  of  the  Dwyer  mansion  into  the  park. 
Children  rolled  on  the  grass,  while  mothers  and  fathers, 
tired  out  from  the  heat  and  labour  of  a city  day,  sat  on 
the  benches.  Peter  stooped  down  and  lifted  a small  boy, 
painfully  thin,  who  had  fallen,  weeping,  on  the  gravel 
walk.  He  took  his  handkerchief  and  wiped  the  scratch 
on  the  child’s  forehead. 

44  There,  there ! ” he  said,  smiling,  64  it’s  all  right  now. 
We  must  expect  a few  tumbles.” 

The  child  looked  at  him,  and  suddenly  smiled  through 
his  tears. 

The  father  appeared,  a red-headed  Irishman. 

44  Thank  you,  Mr.  Erwin;  I’m  sure  it’s  very  kind  of  you, 
sir,  to  bother  with  him,”  he  said  gratefully.  44  It’s  that 
thin  he  is  with  the  heat,  I take  him  out  for  a bit  of  country 
air.” 

44  Why,  Tim,  it’s  you,  is  it  ? ” said  Peter.  44  He’s  the 
janitor  of  our  building  down  town,”  he  explained  to  Ho- 
nora,  who  had  remained  a silent  witness  to  this  simple  scene. 
She  had  been,  in  spite  of  herself,  impressed  by  it,  and  by 
the  mingled  respect  and  affection  in  the  janitor’s  manner 
towards  Peter.  It  was  so  with  every  one  to  whom  he  spoke. 
They  walked  on  in  silence  for  a few  moments,  into  a path 
leading  to  a lake,  which  had  stolen  the  flaming  green-gold 
of  the  sky. 

44 1 suppose,”  said  Honora,  slowly,  44  it  would  be  better 
for  me  to  wish  to  be  contented  where  I am,  as  you  are. 
But  it’s  no  use  trying,  I can’t.” 

Peter  was  not  a preacher. 

44  Oh,”  he  said,  44  there  are  lots  of  things  I want.” 

44 What?”  demanded  Honora,  interested.  For  she  had 
never  conceived  of  him  as  having  any  desires  whatever. 

44 1 want  a house  like  Mr.  Dwyer’s,”  he  declared,  point- 


IN  WHICH  PROVIDENCE  KEEPS  FAITH  57 


ing  at  the  distant  imposing  roof  line  against  the  fading 
eastern  sky. 

Honora  laughed.  The  idea  of  Peter  wishing  such  a 
house  was  indeed  ridiculous.  Then  she  became  grave 
again. 

44  There  are  times  when  you  seem  to  forget  that  I have 
at  last  grown  up,  Peter.  You  never  will  talk  over  serious 
things  with  me.” 

44  What  are  serious  things?  ” asked  Peter. 

“Well,”  said  Honora  vaguely,  “ ambitions,  and  what  one 
is  going  to  make  of  themselves  in  life.  And  then  you 
make  fun  of  me  by  saying  you  want  Mr.  Dwyer’s  house.” 
She  laughed  again.  “I  can’t  imagine  you  in  that  house.” 

“ Why  not  ? ” he  asked,  stopping  beside  the  pond  and 
thrusting  his  hands  in  his  pockets.  He  looked  very 
solemn,  but  she  knew  he  was  smiling  inwardly. 

“ Why  — because  I can’t,”  she  said,  and  hesitated.  The 
question  had  forced  her  to  think  about  Peter.  “ I can’t 
imagine  you  living  all  alone  in  all  that  luxury.  It  isn’t 
like  you.” 

“ Why  4 all  alone  ’ ? ” asked  Peter. 

“Don’t  be  ridiculous,”  she  said;  “you  wouldn’t  build  a 
house  like  that,  even  if  you  were  twice  as  rich  as  Mr. 
Dwyer.  You  know  you  wouldn’t.  And  you’re  not  the 
marrying  kind,”  she  added,  with  the  superior  knowledge 
of  eighteen. 

“ I’m  waiting  for  you,  Honora,”  he  announced. 

“You  know  I love  you,  Peter,”  — so  she  tempered  her 
reply,  for  Honora’s  feelings*  were  tender.  What  man, 
even  Peter,  would  not  have  married  her  if  he  could?  Of 
course  he  was  in  earnest,  despite  his  bantering  tone. — 
44  but  I never  could  — marry  you.” 

44  Not  even  if  I were  to  offer  you  a house  like  Mr.  Dwy- 
er’s?” he  said.  A remark  which  betrayed  — although 
not  to  her  — his  knowledge  of  certain  earthly  strains  in 
his  goddess. 

The  colours  faded  from  the  water,  and  it  blackened. 
As  they  walked  on  side  by  side  in  the  twilight,  a con- 
sciousness of  repressed  masculine  force,  of  reserve  power, 


58 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


which  she  had  never  before  felt  about  Peter  Erwin, 
invaded  her ; and  she  was  seized  with  a strange  uneasi- 
ness. Ridiculous  was  the  thought  (which  she  lost  no 
time  in  rejecting)  that  pointed  out  the  true  road  to  hap- 
piness in  marrying  such  a man  as  he.  In  the  gathering 
darkness  she  slipped  her  hand  through  his  arm. 

“ I wish  I could  marry  you,  Peter,”  she  said. 

He  was  fain  to  take  what  comfort  he  could  from  this 
expression  of  good-will.  If  he  was  not  the  Prince  Charm- 
ing of  her  dreams,  she  would  have  liked  him  to  be.  A 
little  reflection  on  his  part  ought  to  have  shown  him  the 
absurdity  of  the  Prince  Charming  having  been  there  all 
the  time,  and  in  ready-made  clothes.  And  he,  too,  may 
have  had  dreams.  We  are  not  concerned  with  them. 
******* 

If  we  listen  to  the  still,  small  voice  of  realism,  intense 
longing  is  always  followed  by  disappointment.  Nothing 
should  have  happened  that  summer,  and  Providence  should 
not  have  come  disguised  as  the  postman.  It  was  a sultry 
day  in  early  September — which  is  to  say  that  it  was  com- 
paratively cool — a blue  day,  with  occasional  great  drops 
of  rain  spattering  on  the  brick  walk.  And  Honora  was 
reclining  on  the  hall  sofa,  reading  about  Mr.  Ibbetson  and 
his  duchess,  when  she  perceived  the  postman’s  grey  uni- 
form and  smiling  face  on  the  far  side  of  the  screen  door. 
He  greeted  her  cordially,  and  gave  her  a single  letter  for 
Aunt  Mary,  and  she  carried  it  unsuspectingly  upstairs. 

“ It’s  from  Cousin  Eleanor,”  Honora  volunteered. 

Aunt  Mary  laid  down  her  sewing,  smoothed  the  ruffles 
of  her  sacque,  adjusted  her  spectacles,  opened  the 
envelope,  and  began  to  read.  Presently  the  letter  fell  to 
her  lap,  and  she  wiped  her  glasses  and  glanced  at  Honora, 
who  was  deep  in  her  book  once  more.  And  in  Honora’s 
brain,  as  she  read,  was  ringing  the  refrain  of  the  prisoner  : — 

“ Orleans , Beaugency  ! 

Notre  Dame  de  Cle'ry  ! 

Venddme  ! Vendome  ! 

Quel  chagrin , quel  ennui 
De  compter  toute  la  nuit 

Les  heures,  les  heures!  ” 


IN  WHICH  PROVIDENCE  KEEPS  FAITH  59 


The  verse  appealed  to  Honora  strangely,  just  as  it  had 
appealed  to  Ibbetson.  Was  she  not,  too,  a prisoner? 
And  how  often,  during  the  summer  days  and  nights,  had 
she  listened  to  the  chimes  of  the  Pilgrim  Church  near  by  ? 

“ One,  two,  three,  four ! 

One,  two,  three,  four ! ” 

After  Uncle  Tom  had  watered  his  flowers  that  evening, 
Aunt  Mary  followed  him  upstairs  and  locked  the  door  of 
their  room  behind  her.  Silently  she  put  the  letter  in  his 
hand.  Here  is  one  paragraph  of  it : — 

“I  have  never  asked  to  take  the  child  from  you  in  the 
summer,  because  she  has  always  been  in  perfect  health, 
and  I know  how  lonely  you  would  have  been  without  her, 
my  dear  Mary.  But  it  seems  to  me  that  a winter  at  Sut- 
cliffe, with  my  girls,  would  do  her  a world  of  good  just 
now.  I need  not  point  out  to  you  that  Honora  is,  to 
say  the  least,  remarkably  good  looking,  and  that  she  has 
developed  very  rapidly.  And  she  has,  in  spite  of  the 
strict  training  you  have  given  her,  certain  ideas  and  ambi- 
tions which  seem  to  me,  I am  sorry  to  say,  more  or  less 
prevalent  among  young  American  women  these  days.  You 
know  it  is  only  because  I love  her  that  I am  so  frank. 
Miss  Turner’s  influence  will,  in  my  opinion,  do  much  to 
counteract  these  tendencies.” 

Uncle  Tom  folded  the  letter,  and  handed  it  back  to  his 
wife. 

“ I feel  that  we  ought  not  to  refuse,  Tom.  And  I am 
afraid  Eleanor  is  right.” 

“Well,  Mary,  we’ve  had  her  for  seventeen  years.  We 
ought  to  be  willing  to  spare  her  for — how  many  months?” 
“Nine,”  said  Aunt  Mary,  promptly.  She  had  counted 
them.  “ And  Eleanor  says  she  will  be  home  for  two 
weeks  at  Christmas.  Seventeen  years  ! It  seems  only 
yesterday  when  we  brought  her  home,  Tom.  It  was  just 
about  this  time  of  day,  and  she  was  asleep  in  your  arms, 
and  Bridget  opened  the  door  for  us.  ” Aunt  Mary  looked 
out  of  the  window.  “And  do  you  remember  how  she 
used  to  play  under  the  maple  there,  with  her  dolls  ? ” 


60 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


Uncle  Tom  produced  a very  large  handkerchief,  and 
blew  his  nose. 

44  There,  there,  Mary,”  he  said,  44  nine  months,  and  two 
weeks  out  at  Christmas.  Nine  months  in  eighteen 
years.” 

44 1 suppose  we  ought  to  be  very  thankful,”  said  Aunt 
Mary.  44  But,  Tom,  the  time  is  coming  soon  — ” 

44  Tut  tut,”  exclaimed  Uncle  Tom.  He  turned,  and  his 
eyes  beheld  a work  of  art.  Nothing  less  than  a porcelain 
plate,  hung  in  brackets  on  the  wall,  decorated  by  Honora 
at  the  age  of  ten  with  wild  roses,  and  presented  with 
much  ceremony  on  an  anniversary  morning.  He  pre- 
tended not  to  notice  it,  but  Aunt  Mary’s  eyes  were  too 
quick.  She  seized  a photograph  on  her  bureau,  a photo- 
graph of  Honora  in  a little  white  frock  with  a red  sash. 

44  It  was  the  year  that  was  taken,  Tom.” 

He  nodded.  The  scene  at  the  breakfast  table  came 
back  to  him,  and  the  sight  of  Catherine  standing  respect- 
fully in  the  hall,  and  of  Honora,  in  the  red  sash,  making 
the  courtesy  the  old  woman  had  taught  her. 

Honora  recalled  afterwards  that  Uncle  Tom  joked  even 
more  than  usual  that  evening  at  dinner.  But  it  was  Aunt 
Mary  who  asked  her,  at  length,  how  she  would  like  to  go 
to  boarding-school.  Such  was  the  matter-of-fact  manner 
in  which  the  portentous  news  was  announced. 

44  To  boarding-school,  Aunt  Mary?” 

Her  aunt  poured  out  her  uncle’s  after-dinner  coffee. 

44  I’ve  spilled  some,  my  dear.  Get  another  saucer  for 
your  uncle.” 

Honora  went  mechanically  to  the  china  closet,  her  heart 
thumping.  She  did  not  stop  to  reflect  that  it  was  the 
rarest  of  occurrences  for  Aunt  Mary  to  spill  the  coffee. 

44  Your  Cousin  Eleanor  has  invited  you  to  go  this  winter 
with  Edith  and  Mary  to  Sutcliffe.” 

Sutcliffe  ! No  need  to  tell  Honora  what  Sutcliffe  was 
— her  cousins  had  talked  of  little  else  during  the  past 
winter  ; and  shown,  if  the  truth  be  told,  just  a little  com- 
miseration for  Honora.  Sutcliffe  was  not  only  a famous 
girls’  school,  Sutcliffe  was  the  world — that  world  which, 


IN  WHICH  PROVIDENCE  KEEPS  FAITH  61 


since  her  earliest  remembrances,  she  had  been  longing  to 
see  and  know.  In  a desperate  attempt  to  realize  what  had 
happened  to  her,  she  found  herself  staring  hard  at  the 
open  china  closet,  at  Aunt  Mary’s  best  gold  dinner  set 
resting  on  the  pink  lace  paper  that  had  been  changed  only 
last  week.  That  dinner  set,  somehow,  was  always  an  au- 
gury of  festival  — when,  on  the  rare  occasions  Aunt  Mary 
entertained,  the  little  dining  room  was  transformed  by  it 
and  the  Leffingwell  silver  into  a glorified  and  altogether 
unrecognizable  state,  in  which  any  miracle  seemed  pos- 
sible. 

Honora  pushed  back  her  chair.  Her  lips  were  parted. 

44  Oh,  Aunt  Mary,  is  it  really  true  that  I am  going  ? ” 
she  said. 

44  Why,”  said  Uncle  Tom,  44  what  zeal  for  learning  ! ” 

u My  dear,”  said  Aunt  Mary,  who,  you  may  be  sure, 
knew  all  about  that  school  before  Cousin  Eleanor’s  letter 
came,  44  Miss  Turner  insists  upon  hard  work,  and  the  dis- 
cipline is  very  strict.” 

“ No  young  men,”  added  Uncle  Tom. 

44  That,”  declared  Aunt  Mary,  44  is  certainly  an  advan- 
tage.” 

44  And  no  chocolate  cake,  and  bed  at  ten  o’clock,”  said 
Uncle  Tom. 

Honora,  dazed,  only  half  heard  them.  She  laughed  at 
Uncle  Tom  because  she  always  had,  but  tears  were  shining 
in  her  eyes.  Young  men  and  chocolate  cake  ! What 
were  these  privations  compared  to  that  magic  word  Change  ? 
Suddenly  she  rose,  and  flung  her  arms  about  Uncle  Tom’s 
neck  and  kissed  his  rough  cheek,  and  then  embraced  Aunt 
Mary.  They  would  be  lonely. 

44  Aunt  Mary,  I can’t  bear  to  leave  you  — but  I do  so 
want  to  go  ! And  it  won’t  be  for  long  — will  it?  Only 
until  next  spring.” 

“Until  next  summer,  I believe,”  replied  Aunt  Mary, 
gently;  44  June  is  a summer  month  — isn’t  it,  Tom?  ” 

44  It  will  be  a summer  month  without  question  next  year,” 
answered  Uncle  Tom,  enigmatically. 

It  has  been  remarked  that  that  day  was  sultry,  and  a 


62 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


fine  rain  was  now  washing  Uncle  Tom’s  flowers  for  him. 
It  was  he  who  had  applied  that  term  “ washing  ” since  the 
era  of  ultra-soot.  Incredible  as  it  may  seem,  life  pro- 
ceeded as  on  any  other  of  a thousand  rainy  nights.  The 
lamps  were  lighted  in  the  sitting-room,  Uncle  Tom  un- 
folded his  gardening  periodical,  and  Aunt  Mary  her  em- 
broidery. The  gate  slammed,  with  its  more  subdued, 
rainy-weather  sound. 

“ It’s  Peter,”  said  Honora,  flying  downstairs.  And  she 
caught  him,  astonished,  as  he  was  folding  his  umbrella  on 
the  step.  “ Oh,  Peter,  if  you  tried  until  to-morrow  morn- 
ing, you  never  could  guess  what  has  happened.” 

He  stood  for  a moment,  motionless,  staring  at  her,  a 
tall  figure,  careless  of  the  rain. 

“You  are  going  away,”  he  said. 

“How  did  you  guess  it?”  she  exclaimed  in  surprise. 
“Yes  — to  boarding-school.  To  Sutcliffe,  on  the  Hudson, 
with  Edith  and  Mary.  Aren’t  you  glad?  You  look  as 
though  you  had  seen  a ghost.” 

“ Do  I ? ” said  Peter. 

“ Don’t  stand  there  in  the  rain,”  commanded  Honora ; 
“ come  into  the  parlour,  and  I’ll  tell  you  all  about  it.” 

He  came  in.  She  took  the  umbrella  from  him,  and  put 
it  in  the  rack. 

“ Why  don’t  you  congratulate  me?”  she  demanded. 

“You’ll  never  come  back,”  said  Peter. 

“ What  a horrid  thing  to  say  ! Of  course  I shall  come 
back.  I shall  come  back  next  June,  and  you’ll  be  at  the 
station  to  meet  me.” 

“ And  — what  will  Uncle  Tom  and  Aunt  Mary  do — with- 
out you  ? ” 

“ Oh,”  said  Honora,  “ I shall  miss  them  dreadfully. 
And  I shall  miss  you,  Peter.” 

“Very  much?”  he  asked,  looking  down  at  her  with 
such  a queer  expression.  And  his  voice,  too,  sounded 
queer.  He  was  trying  to  smile. 

Suddenly  Honora  realized  that  he  was  suffering,  and 
she  felt  the  pangs  of  contrition.  She  could  not  remember 
the  time  when  she  had  been  away  from  Peter,  and  it  was 


IN  WHICH  PROVIDENCE  KEEPS  FAITH  63 


natural  that  he  should  be  stricken  at  the  news.  Peter,  who 
was  the  complement  of  all  who  loved  and  served  her,  of 
Aunt  Mary  and  Uncle  Tom  and  Catherine,  and  who  some- 
how embodied  them  all.  Peter,  the  eternally  dependable. 
She  found  it  natural  that  the  light  should  be  temporarily 
removed  from  his  firmament  while  she  should  be  at  board- 
ing-school, and  yet  in  the  tenderness  of  her  heart  she 
pitied  him.  She  put  her  hands  impulsively  upon  his 
shoulders  as  he  stood  looking  at  her  with  that  queer  ex- 
pression which  he  believed  to  be  a smile. 

“ Peter,  you  dear  old  thing,  indeed  I shall  miss  you  ! 
I don’t  know  what  I shall  do  without  you,  and  I’ll  write 
to  you  every  single  week.” 

Gently  he  disengaged  her  arms.  They  were  standing 
under  that  which,  for  courtesy’s  sake,  had  always  been 
called  the  chandelier.  It  was  in  the  centre  of  the  par- 
lour, and  Uncle  Tom  always  covered  it  with  holly  and 
mistletoe  at  Christmas. 

“Why  do  you  say  I’ll  never  come  back?”  asked  Ho- 
nora.  “ Of  course  I shall  come  back,  and  live  here  all  the 
rest  of  my  life.” 

Peter  shook  his  head  slowly.  He  had  recovered  some- 
thing of  his  customary  quizzical  manner. 

“ The  East  is  a strange  country,”  he  said.  “ The 
first  thing  we  know  you’ll  be  marrying  one  of  those  people 
we  read  about,  with  more  millions  than  there  are  cars  on 
the  Olive  Street  line.” 

Honora  was  a little  indignant. 

“I  wish  you  wouldn’t  talk  so,  Peter,”  she  said.  “In 
the  first  place,  I shan’t  see  any  but  girls  at  Sutcliffe.  I 
could  only  see  you  for  a few  minutes  once  a week  if  you 
were  there.  And  in  the  second  place,  it  isn’t  exactly  — 
well  — dignified  to  compare  the  East  and  the  West  the 
way  you  do,  and  speak  about  people  who  are  very  rich 
and  live  there  as  though  they  were  different  from  the 
people  we  know  here.  Comparisons,  as  Shakespeare  said, 
are  odorous.” 

“ Honora,”  he  declared,  still  shaking  his  head,  “ you’re 
a fraud,  but  I can’t  help  loving  you.” 


64 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


For  a long  time  that  night  Honora  lay  in  bed  staring 
into  the  darkness,  and  trying  to  realize  what  had.  hap- 
pened. She  heard  the  whistling  and  the  puffing  of  the 
trains  in  the  cinder-covered  valley  to  the  southward,  but 
the  quality  of  these  sounds  had  changed.  They  were 
music  now. 


CHAPTER  VI 


HONOR  A HAS  A GLIMPSE  OF  THE  WORLD 

It  is  simply  impossible  to  give  any  adequate  notion  of 
the  industry  of  the  days  that  followed.  No  sooner  was 
Uncle  Tom  out  of  the  house  in  the  morning  than  Anne 
Rory  marched  into  the  sitting-room  and  took  command, 
and  turned  it  into  a dressmaking  establishment.  Anne 
Rory,  who  deserves  more  than  a passing  mention,  one 
of  the  institutions  of  Honora’s  youth,  who  sewed 
for  the  first  families,  and  knew  much  more  about 
them  than  Mr.  Meeker,  the  dancing-master.  If  you  en- 
joyed her  confidence,  — as  Aunt  Mary  did,  — she  would 
tell  you  of  her  own  accord  who  gave  their  servants  enough 
to  eat,  and  who  didn’t.  Anne  Rory  was  a sort  of  inquisi- 
tion all  by  herself,  and  would  have  made  a valuable  chief 
of  police.  The  reputations  of  certain  elderly  gentlemen 
of  wealth  might  have  remained  to  this  day  intact  had  it 
not  been  for  her  ; she  had  a heaven-sent  knack  of  discover- 
ing peccadilloes.  Anne  Rory  knew  the  gentlemen  by 
sight,  and  the  gentlemen  did  not  know  Anne  Rory.  Uncle 
Tom  she  held  to  be  somewhere  in  the  calendar  of  the  saints. 

There  is  not  time,  alas,  to  linger  over  Anne  Rory  or 
the  new  histories  which  she  whispered  to  Aunt  Mary 
when  Honora  was  out  of  the  room.  At  last  the  eventful 
day  of  departure  arrived.  Honora’s  new  trunk  — her 
first  — was  packed  by  Aunt  Mary’s  own  hands,  the  dainty 
clothes  and  the  dresses  folded  in  tissue  paper,  while  old 
Catherine  stood  sniffing  by.  After  dinner  — sign  of  a 
great  occasion  — a carriage  came  from  Braintree’s  Livery 
Stable,  and  Uncle  Tom  held  the  horses  while  the  driver 
carried  out  the  trunk  and  strapped  it  on.  Catherine, 
Mary  Ann,  and  Bridget,  all  weeping,  were  kissed  good-by, 

65 


F 


66 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


and  off  they  went  through  the  dusk  to  the  station.  Not 
the  old  Union  Depot,  with  its  wooden  sheds,  where  Ho- 
nora  had  gone  so  often  to  see  the  Hanburys  off,  that 
grimy  gateway  to  the  fairer  regions  of  the  earth.  This 
new  station,  of  brick  and  stone  and  glass  and  tiles,  would 
hold  an  army  corps  with  ease.  And  when  they  alighted 
at  the  carriage  entrance,  a tall  figure  came  forward  out  of 
the  shadow.  It  was  Peter,  and  he  had  a package  under 
his  arm.  Peter  checked  Honora’s  trunk,  and  Peter  had 
got  the  permission  — through  Judge  Brice  — which  en- 
abled them  all  to  pass  through  the  grille  and  down  the 
long  walk  beside  which  the  train  was  standing. 

They  entered  that  hitherto  mysterious  conveyance,  a 
sleeping-car,  and  spoke  to  old  Mrs.  Stanley,  who  was 
going  East  to  see  her  married  daughter,  and  who  had 
gladly  agreed  to  take  charge  of  Honora.  Afterwards  they 
stood  on  the  platform,  but  in  spite  of  the  valiant  efforts 
of  Uncle  Tom  and  Peter,  conversation  was  a mockery. 

“ Honora,”  said  Aunt  Mary,  “ don’t  forget  that  your 
trunk  key  is  in  the  little  pocket  on  the  left  side  of  your 
bag.” 

“No,  Aunt  Mary.” 

“ And  your  little  New  Testament  at  the  bottom.  And 
your  lunch  is  arranged  in  three  packages.  And  don’t 
forget  to  ask  Cousin  Eleanor  about  the  walking  shoes,  and 
to  give  her  my  note.” 

Cries  reverberated  under  the  great  glass  dome,  and 
trains  pulled  out  with  deafening  roars.  Honora  had  a 
strange  feeling,  as  of  pressure  from  within,  that  caused 
her  to  take  deep  breaths  of  the  smoky  air.  She  but  half 
heard  what  was  being  said  to  her : she  wished  that  the  train 
would  go,  and  at  the  same  time  she  had  a sudden,  surpris- 
ing, and  fierce  longing  to  stay.  She  had  been  able  to  eat 
scarcely  a mouthful  of  that  festal  dinner  which  Bridget 
had  spent  the  afternoon  in  preparing,  comprised  wholly 
of  forbidden  dishes  of  her  childhood,  for  which  Bridget 
and  Aunt  Mary  were  justly  famed.  Such  is  the  irony  of 
life.  Visions  of  one  of  Aunt  Mary’s  rare  lunch-parties  and 
of  a small  girl  peeping  covetously  through  a crack  in  the 


HONORA  HAS  A GLIMPSE  OF  THE  WORLD  67 


dining-room  door,  and  of  the  gold  china  set,  rose  before 
her.  But  she  could  not  eat. 

44  Bread  and  jam  and  tea  at  Miss  Turner’s,”  Uncle  Tom 
had  said,  and  she  had  tried  to  smile  at  him. 

And  now  they  were  standing  on  the  platform,  and  the 
train  might  start  at  any  moment. 

“I  trust  you  won’t  get  like  the  New  Yorkers,  Honora,” 
said  Aunt  Mary.  44  Do  you  remember  how  stiff  they 
were,  Tom  ? ” She  was  still  in  the  habit  of  referring  to 
that  memorable  trip  when  they  had  brought  Honora  home. 
44  And  they  say  now  that  they  hold  their  heads  higher  than 
ever.” 

44  That,”  said  Uncle  Tom,  gravely,  uis  a local  disease, 
and  comes  from  staring  at  the  tall  buildings.” 

“ Uncle  Tom  ! ” 

Peter  presented  the  parcel  under  his  arm.  It  was  a box 
of  candy,  and  very  heavy,  on  which  much  thought  had 
been  spent. 

44  They  are  some  of  the  things  you  like,”  he  said,  when 
he  had  returned  from  putting  it  in  the  berth. 

44  How  good  of  you,  Peter ! I shall  never  be  able  to  eat 
all  that.” 

44 1 hope  there  is  a doctor  on  the  train,”  said  Uncle  Tom. 

44Yassah,”  answered  the  black  porter,  who  had  been 
listening  with  evident  relish, 44  right  good  doctah  — Doctah 
Lov’ring.” 

Even  Aunt  Mary  laughed. 

“Peter,”  asked  Honora,  44 can’t  you  get  Judge  Brice  to 
send  you  on  to  New  York  this  winter  on  law  business  ? 
Then  you  could  come  up  to  Sutcliffe  to  see  me.” 

44  I’m  afraid  of  Miss  Turner,”  declared  Peter. 

44  Oh,  she  wouldn’t  mind  you,”  exclaimed  Honora.  44 1 
could  say  you  were  an  uncle.  It  would  be  almost  true. 
And  perhaps  she  would  let  you  take  me  down  to  New  York 
for  a matinee.” 

44 And  how  about  my  ready-made  clothes?”  he  said, 
looking  down  at  her.  He  had  never  forgotten  that. 

Honora  laughed. 

44  You  don’t  seem  a bit  sorry  that  I’m  going,”  she 


68 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


replied,  a little  breathlessly.  “You  know  I’d  be  glad  to 
see  you,  if  you  were  in  rags.” 

“ All  aboard ! ” cried  the  porter,  grinning  sympatheti- 
cally. 

Honora  threw  her  arms  around  Aunt  Mary  and  clung 
to  her.  How  small  and  frail  she  was ! Somehow  Honora 
had  never  realized  it  in  all  her  life  before. 

“ Good-by,  darling,  and  remember  to  put  on  your  thick 
clothes  on  the  cool  days,  and  write  when  you  get  to  New 
York.” 

Then  it  was  Uncle  Tom’s  turn.  He  gave  her  his  usual 
vigorous  hug  and  kiss. 

“ It  won’t  be  long  until  Christmas,”  he  whispered,  and 
was  gone,  helping  Aunt  Mary  off  the  train,  which  had 
begun  to  move. 

Peter  remained  a moment. 

“ Good-by,  Honora.  I’ll  write  to  you  often  and  let 
you  know  how  they  are.  And  perhaps  — you’ll  send  me 
a letter  once  in  a while.” 

“ Oh,  Peter,  I will,”  she  cried.  “ I can’t  bear  to  leave 
you  — I didn’t  think  it  would  be  so  hard.” 

He  held  out  his  hand,  but  she  ignored  it.  Before  he 
realized  what  had  happened  to  him  she  had  drawn  his 
face  to  hers,  kissed  it,  and  was  pushing  him  off  the  train. 
Then  she  watched  from  the  platform  the  three  receding 
figures  in  the  yellow  smoky  light  until  the  car  slipped 
out  from  under  the  roof  into  the  blackness  of  the  night. 
Some  faint,  premonitory  divination  of  what  they  repre- 
sented of  immutable  love  in  a changing,  heedless,  selfish 
world  came  to  her ; rocks  to  which  one  might  cling,  suc- 
cessful or  failing,  happy  or  unhappy.  For  unconsciously 
she  thought  of  them,  all  three,  as  one,  a human  trinity  in 
which  her  faith  had  never  been  betrayed.  She  felt  a 
warm  moisture  on  her  cheeks,  and  realized  that  she  was 
crying  with  the  first  real  sorrow  of  her  life. 

She  was  leaving  them — for  what?  Honora  did  not 
know.  There  had  been  nothing  imperative  in  Cousin 
Eleanor’s  letter.  She  need  not  have  gone  if  she  had  not 
wished.  Something  within  herself,  she  felt,  was  impelling 


HONORA  HAS  A GLIMPSE  OF  THE  WORLD  69 


her.  And  it  is  curious  to  relate  that,  in  her  mind,  going 
to  school  had  little  or  nothing  to  do  with  her  journey. 
She  had  the  feeling  of  faring  forth  into  the  world,  and  she 
had  known  all  along  that  it  was  destined  she  should. 
What  was  the  cause  of  this  longing  to  break  the  fetters 
and  fly  away?  fetters  of  love,  they  seemed  to  her  now — 
and  were.  And  the  world  which  she  had  seen  afar,  filled 
with  sunlit  palaces,  seemed  very  dark  and  dreary  to  her 
to-night. 

“ The  lady’s  asking  for  you,  Miss,”  said  the  porter. 

She  made  a heroic  attempt  to  talk  to  Mrs.  Stanley. 
But  at  the  sight  of  Peter’s  candy,  when  she  opened  it,  she 
was  blinded  once  more.  Dear  Peter ! That  box  was  elo- 
quent with  the  care  with  which  he  had  studied  her  slight- 
est desires  and  caprices.  Marrons  glacds,  and  Langtrys, 
and  certain  chocolates  which  had  received  the  stamp  of 
her  approval  — and  she  could  not  so  much  as  eat  one  ! 
The  porter  made  the  berths.  And  there  had  been  a time 
when  she  had  asked  nothing  more  of  fate  than  to  travel 
in  a sleeping-car  ! Far  into  the  night  she  lay  wide  awake, 
dry-eyed,  watching  the  lamp-lit  streets  of  the  little  towns 
they  passed,  or  staring  at  the  cornfields  and  pastures  in 
the  darkness;  thinking  of  the  home  she  had  left,  per- 
haps forever,  and  wondering  whether  they  were  sleeping 
there;  picturing  them  to-morrow  at  breakfast  without 
her,  and  Uncle  Tom  leaving  for  the  bank,  Aunt  Mary 
going  through  the  silent  rooms  alone,  and  dear  old 
Catherine  haunting  the  little  chamber  where  she  had 
slept  for  seventeen  years  — almost  her  lifetime.  A hun- 
dred vivid  scenes  of  her  childhood  came  back,  and  famil- 
iar objects  oddly  intruded  themselves  ; the  red  and  green 
lambrequin  on  the  parlour  mantel  — a present  many  years 
ago  from  Cousin  Eleanor  ; the  what-not,  with  its  funny 
curly  legs,  and  the  bare  spot  near  the  lock  on  the  door  of 
the  cake  closet  in  the  dining  room  ! 

Youth,  however,  has  its  recuperative  powers.  The 
next  day  the  excitement  of  the  journey  held  her,  the 
sight  of  new  cities  and  a new  countryside.  But  when 
she  tried  to  eat  the  lunch  Aunt  Mary  had  so  carefully 


70 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


put  up,  new  memories  assailed  her,  and  she  went  with 
Mrs.  Stanley  into  the  dining  car.  The  September  dusk 
was  made  lurid  by  belching  steel  furnaces  that  reddened 
the  heavens ; and  later,  when  she  went  to  bed,  sharp  air 
and  towering  contours  told  her  of  the  mountains.  Moun- 
tains which  her  great-grandfather  had  crossed  on  horse- 
back, with  that  very 
family  silver  in  his 
saddle-bags  which  shone 
on  Aunt  Mary’s  table. 
And  then  — she  awoke 
with  the  light  shining 
in  her  face,  and  barely 
had  time  to  dress  be- 
fore the  conductor  was 
calling  out  “Jersey 
City.” 

Once  more  the  morn- 
ing, and  with  it  new  and 
wonderful  sensations 
that  dispelled  her  sorrows ; the  ferry,  the  olive-green 
river  rolling  in  the  morning  sun,  alive  with  dodging, 
hurrying  craft,  each  bent  upon  its  destination  with  an 
energy,  relentlessness,  and  selfishness  of  purpose  that  fasci- 
nated Honora.  Each,  with  its  shrill,  protesting  whistle, 
seemed  to  say:  “ My  business  is  the  most  important. 
Make  way  for  me.”  And  yet,  through  them  all,  tower- 
ing, stately,  imperturbable,  a great  ocean  steamer  glided 
slowly  towards  the  bay,  by  very  might  and  majesty  hold- 
ing her  way  serene  and  undisturbed,  on  a nobler  errand. 
Honora  thrilled  as  she  gazed,  as  though  at  last  her  dream 
were  coming  true,  and  she  felt  within  her  the  pulse  of 
the  world’s  artery.  That  irksome  sense  of  spectatorship 
seemed  to  fly,  and  she  was  part  and  parcel  now  of  the 
great,  moving  things,  with  sure  pinions  with  which  to 
soar.  Standing  rapt  upon  the  forward  deck  of  the  ferry, 
she  saw  herself,  not  an  atom,  but  one  whose  going  and 
coming  was  a thing  of  consequence.  It  seemed  but  a sim- 
ple step  to  the  deck  of  that  steamer  when  she,  too,  would 


HONORA  HAS  A GLIMPSE  OF  THE  WORLD  71 


be  travelling  ;to  the  other  side  of  the  world,  and  the  jour- 
ney one  of  the  small  incidents  of  life. 

The  ferry  bumped  into  its  slip,  the  windlasses  sang 
loudly  as  they  took  up  the  chains,  the  gates  folded  back, 
and  Honora  was  forced  with  the  crowd  along  the  bridge- 
like passage  to  the  right.  Suddenly  she  saw  Cousin 
Eleanor  and  the  girls  awaiting  her. 

“Honora,”  said  Edith,  when  the  greetings  were  over 
and  they  were  all  four  in  the  carriage,  which  was  making 
its  way  slowly  across  the  dirty  and  irregularly  paved  open 
space  to  a narrow  street  that  opened  between  two  saloons, 
“ Honora,  you  don’t  mean  to  say  that  Anne  Rory  made 
that  street  dress  ? Mother,  I believe  it’s  better-looking 
than  the  one  I got  at  Bremer’s.” 

“ It’s  very  simple,”  said  Honora. 

“And  she  looks  fairly  radiant,”  cried  Edith,  seizing  her 
cousin’s  hand.  “It’s  quite  wonderful,  Honora;  nobody 
would  ever  guess  that  you  were  from  the  West,  and  that 
you  had  spent  the  whole  summer  in  St.  Louis.” 

Cousin  Eleanor  smiled  a little  as  she  contemplated 
Honora,  who  sat,  fascinated,  gazing  out  of  the  window  at 
novel  scenes.  There  was  a colour  in  her  cheeks  and  a 
sparkle  in  her  eyes.  They  had  reached  Madison  Square. 
Madison  Square,  on  a bright  morning  in  late  September, 
seen  for  the  first  time  by  an  ambitious  young  lady  who 
had  never  been  out  of  St.  Louis  ! The  trimly  appointed 
vehicles,  the  high-stepping  horses,  the  glittering  shops, 
the  well-dressed  women  and  well-groomed  men  — all  had 
an  esprit  de  corps  which  she  found  inspiring.  On  such  a 
morning,  and  amidst  such  a scene,  she  felt  that  there  was 
no  limit  to  the  possibilities  of  life. 

Until  this  year,  Cousin  Eleanor  had  been  a conservative 
in  the  matter  of  hotels,  when  she  had  yielded  to  Edith’s 
entreaties  to  go  to  one  of  the  “ new  ones.”  Hotels,  indeed, 
that  revolutionized  transient  existence.  This  one,  on  the 
Avenue,  had  a giant  in  a long  blue  livery  coat  who  opened 
their  carriage  door,  and  a hall  in  yellow  and  black  onyx, 
and  maids  and  valets.  After  breakfast,  when  Honora  sat 
down  to  write  to  Aunt  Mary,  she  described  the  suite  of 


72 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


rooms  in  which  they  lived,  — the  brass  beds,  the  electric 
night  lamps,  the  mahogany  French  furniture,  the  heavy 
carpets,  and  even  the  white-tiled  bathroom.  There  was  a 
marvellous  arrangement  in  the  walls  with  which  Edith 
was  never  tired  of  playing,  a circular  plate  covered  with 
legends  of  every  conceivable  want,  from  a newspaper  to  a 
needle  and  thread  and  a Scotch  whiskey  highball. 

At  breakfast,  more  stimulants  — of  a mental  nature,  of 
course.  Solomon  in  all  his  glory  had  never  broken  eggs 
in  such  a dining  room.  It  had  onyx  pillars,  too,  and  gilt 
furniture,  and  table  after  table  of  the  whitest  napery 
stretched  from  one  end  of  it  to  the  other.  The  glass 
and  silver  was  all  of  a special  pattern,  and  an  obsequious 
waiter  handed  Honora  a menu  in  a silver  frame,  with  a 
handle.  One  side  of  the  menu  was  in  English,  and  the 
other  in  French.  All  around  them  were  well-dressed, 
well-fed,  prosperous-looking  people,  talking  and  laughing 
in  subdued  tones  as  they  ate.  And  Honora  had  a strange 
feeling  of  being  one  of  them,  of  being  as  rich  and  prosper- 
ous as  they,  of  coming  into  a long-deferred  inheritance. 

The  mad  excitement  of  that  day  in  New  York  is  a faint 
memory  now,  so  much  has  Honora  lived  since  then.  We 
descendants  of  rigid  Puritans,  of  pioneer  tobacco-planters 
and  frontiersmen,  take  naturally  to  a luxury  such  as  the 
world  has  never  seen  — as  our  right.  We  have  abolished 
kings,  in  order  that  as  many  of  us  as  possible  may  abide 
in  palaces.  In  one  day  Honora  forgot  the  seventeen 
years  spent  in  the  “ little  house  under  the  hill,”  as  though 
these  had  never  been.  Cousin  Eleanor,  with  a delightful 
sense  of  wrong-doing,  yielded  to  the  temptation  to  adorn 
her;  and  the  saleswomen,  who  knew  Mrs.  Hanbury, 
made  indiscreet  remarks.  Such  a figure  and  such  a face, 
and  just  enough  of  height ! Two  new  gowns  were  ordered, 
to  be  tried  on  at  Sutcliffe,  and  as  many  hats,  and  an 
ulster,  and  heaven  knows  what  else.  Memory  fails. 

In  the  evening  they  went  to  a new  comic  opera,  and  it 
is  the  music  of  that  which  brings  back  the  day  most 
vividly  to  Honora’s  mind. 

In  the  morning  they  took  an  early  train  to  Sutcliffe 


HONORA  HAS  A GLIMPSE  OF  THE  WORLD  73 


Manors,  on  the  Hudson.  It  is  an  historic  place.  First 
of  all,  after  leaving  the  station,  you  climb  through  the 
little  town  clinging  to  the  hillside ; and  Honora  was 
struck  by  the  quaint  houses  and  shops  which  had  been 
places  of  barter  before  the  Revolution.  The  age  of  things 
appealed  to  her.  It  was  a brilliant  day  at  the  very  end  of 
September,  the  air  sharp,  and  here  and  there  a creeper  had 
been  struck  crimson.  Beyond  the  town,  on  the  slopes, 
were  other  new  sights  to  stimulate  the  imagination : 
country  houses  — not  merely  houses  in  the  country,  but 
mansions  — enticingly  hidden  among  great  trees  in  a 
way  to  whet  Honora’s  curiosity  as  she  pictured  to  herself 
the  blissful  quality  of  the  life  which  their  owners  must 
lead.  Long,  curving  driveways  led  up  to  the  houses 
from  occasional  lodges  ; and  once,  as  though  to  complete 
the  impression,  a young  man  and  two  women,  superbly 
mounted,  came  trotting  out  of  one  of  these  driveways, 
talking  and  laughing  gayly.  Honora  took  a good  look  at 
the  man.  He  was  not  handsome,  but  had,  in  fact,  a 
distinguished  and  haunting  ugliness.  The  girls  were 
straight-featured  and  conventional  to  the  last  degree. 

Presently  they  came  to  the  avenue  of  elms  that  led  up 
to  the  long,  low  buildings  ofjthe  school. 

Little  more  will  be  necessary,  in  the  brief  account  of 
Honora’s  life  at  boarding-school,  than  to  add  an  humble 
word  of  praise  on  the  excellence  of  Miss  Turner’s  estab- 
lishment. That  lady,  needless  to  say,  did  not  advertise 
in  the  magazines,  or  issue  a prospectus.  Parents  were 
more  or  less  in  the  situation  of  the  candidates  who  desired 
the  honour  and  privilege  of  whitewashing  Tom  Sawyer’s 
fence.  If  you  were  a parent,  and  were  allowed  to  confide 
your  daughter  to  Miss  Turner,  instead  of  demanding  a 
prospectus,  you  gave  thanks  to  heaven,  and  spoke  about  it 
to  your  friends. 

The  life  of  the  young  ladies,  of  course,  was  regulated 
on  the  strictest  principles.  Early  rising,  prayers,  break 
fast,  studies;  the  daily  walk,  rain  or  shine,  under  the 
watchful  convoy  of  Miss  Hood,  the  girls  in  columns  of 
twos;  tennis  on  the  school  court,  or  skating  on  the 


74 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


school  pond.  Cotton  Mather  himself  could  not  have  dis- 
approved of  the  Sundays,  nor  of  the  discourse  of  the 
elderly  Doctor  Moale  (which  you  heard  if  you  were  not 
a Presbyterian),  although  the  reverend  gentleman  was 
distinctly  Anglican  in  appearance  and  manners.  Some- 
times Honora  felt  devout,  and  would  follow  the  service 
with  the  utmost  attention.  Her  religion  came  in  waves. 
On  the  Sundays  when  the  heathen  prevailed  she  studied 
the  congregation,  grew  to  distinguish  the  local  country 
families;  and,  if  the  truth  must  be  told,  watched  for 
several  Sundays  for  that  ugly  yet  handsome  young  man 
whom  she  had  seen  on  horseback.  But  he  never  appeared, 
and  presently  she  forgot  him. 

Had  there  been  a prospectus  (which  is  ridiculous!),  the 
great  secret  of  Miss  Turner’s  school  could  not  very  well 
have  been  mentioned  in  it.  The  English  language,  it  is 
to  be  feared,  is  not  quite  flexible  enough  to  mention  this 
secret  with  delicacy.  Did  Honora  know  it  ? Who  can 
say  ? Self-respecting  young  ladies  do  not  talk  about  such 
things,  and  Honora  was  nothing  if  not  self-respecting. 


“ Sutcliffe  Manors,  October  15th. 

“Dearest  Aunt  Mary  : As  I wrote  you,  I continue  to 
miss  you  and  Uncle  Tom  dreadfully,  — and  dear  old  Peter, 
too;  and  Cathy  and  Bridget  and  Mary  Ann.  And  I hate 
to  get  up  at  seven  o’clock.  And  Miss  Hood,  who  takes 
us  out  walking  and  teaches  us  composition,  is  such  a 
ridiculously  strict  old  maid  — you  would  laugh  at  her.  And 
the  Sundays  are  terrible.  Miss  Turner  makes  us  read 
the  Bible  for  a whole  hour  in  the  afternoon,  and  reads  to 
us  in  the  evening.  And  Uncle  Tom  was  right  when  he 
said  we  should  have  nothing  but  jam  and  bread  and  butter 
for  supper:  oh,  yes,  and  cold  meat.  I am  always  raven- 
ously hungry.  I count  the  days  until  Christmas,  when  I 
shall  have  some  really  good  things  to  eat  again.  And  of 
course  I cannot  wait  to  see  you  all. 

“ I do  not  mean  to  give  you  the  impression  that  I am 


HONORA  HAS  A GLIMPSE  OF  THE  WORLD  75 


not  happy  here,  and  I never  can  be  thankful  enough  to 
dear  Cousin  Eleanor  for  sending  me.  Some  of  the  girls 
are  most  attractive.  Among  others,  I have  become  great 
friends  with  Ethel  Wing,  who  is  tall  and  blond  and 
good-looking;  and  her  clothes,  though  simple,  are  beau- 
tiful. To  hear  her  imitate  Miss  Turner  or  Miss  Hood 
or  Dr.  Moale  is  almost  as  much  fun  as  going  to  the 
theatre.  You  must-have  heard  of  her  father  — he  is  the 
Mr.  Wing  who  owns  all  the  railroads  and  other  things, 
and  they  have  a house  in  Newport  and  another  in  New 
York,  and  a country  place  and  a yacht. 

44 1 like  Sarah  Wycliffe  very  much.  She  was  brought 
up  abroad,  and  we  lead  the  French  class  together.  Her 
father  has  a house  in  Paris,  which  they  only  use  for  a 
month  or  so  in  the  year:  an  hotel,  as  the  French  call  it. 
And  then  there  is  Maude  Capron,  from  Philadelphia, 
whose  father  is  Secretary  of  War.  I have  now  to  go  to 
my  class  in  English  composition,  but  I will  write  to  you 
again  on  Saturday. 

44  Your  loving  niece, 

“Honora.” 

The  Christmas  holidays  came,  and  went  by  like  mile- 
posts from  the  window  of  an  express  train.  There  was 
a Glee  Club:  there  were  dances,  and  private  theatricals 
in  Mrs.  Dwyer’s  new  house,  in  which  it  was  imperative 
that  Honora  should  take  part.  There  was  no  such  thing 
as  getting  up  for  breakfast,  and  once  she  did  not  see 
Uncle  Tom  for  two  whole  days.  He  asked  her  where  she 
was  staying.  It  was  the  first  Christmas  she  remembered 
spending  without  Peter.  His  present  appeared,  but  per- 
haps it  was  fortunate,  on  the  whole,  that  he  was  in  Texas, 
trying  a case.  It  seemed  almost  no ! time  at  all  before 
she  was  at  the  station  again,  clinging  to  Aunt  Mary: 
but  now  the  separation  was  not  so  hard,  and  she  had 
Edith  and  Mary  for  company,  and  George,  a dignified 
and  responsible  sophomore  at  Harvard. 

Owing  to  the  sudden  withdrawal  from  school  of  little 
Louise  Simpson,  the  Cincinnati  girl  who  had  shared  her 


76 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


room  during  the  first  term,  Honora  had  a new  room-mate 
after  the  holidays,  Susan  Holt.  Susan  was  not  beautiful, 
but  she  was  good.  Her  nose  turned  up,  her  hair  Honora 
described  as  a negative  colour,  and  she  wore  it  in  defiance 
of  all  prevailing  modes.  If  you  looked  very  hard  at  Susan 
(which  few  people  ever  did),  you  saw  that  she  had  re- 
markable blue  eyes : they  were  the  eyes  of  a saint.  She 
was  neither  tall  nor  short,  and  her  complexion  was  not  all 
that  it  might  have  been.  In  brief,  Susan  was  one  of  those 
girls  who  go  through  a whole  term  at  boarding-school 
without  any  particular  notice  from  the  more  brilliant 
Honoras  and  Ethel  Wings. 

In  some  respects,  Susan  was  an  ideal  room-mate.  She 
read  the  Bible  every  night  and  morning,  and  she  wrote 
many  letters  home.  Her  ruling  passion,  next  to  religion, 
was  order,  and  she  took  it  upon  herself  to  arrange  Ho- 
nora’s  bureau  drawers.  It  is  needless  to  say  that  Honora 
accepted  these  ministrations  and  that  she  found  Susan’s 
admiration  an  entirely  natural  sentiment.  Susan  was 
self-effacing,  and  she  enjoyed  listening  to  Honora’s  views 
on  all  topics. 

Susan,  like  Peter,  was  taken  for  granted.  She  came 
from  somewhere,  and  after  school  was  over,  she  would  go 
somewhere.  She  lived  in  New  York,  Honora  knew,  and 
beyond  that  was  not  curious.  We  never  know  when  we 
are  entertaining  an  angel  unawares.  One  evening,  early 
in  May,  when  she  went  up  to  prepare  for  supper  she 
found  Susan  sitting  in  the  window  reading  a letter,  and 
on  the  floor  beside  her  was  a photograph.  Honora  picked 
it  up.  It  was  the  picture  of  a large  country  house  with 
many  chimneys,  taken  across  a wide  green  lawn. 

“ Susan,  what’s  this  ? ” 

Susan  looked  up. 

uOh,  it’s  Silverdale.  My  brother  Joshua  took  it.” 

“ Silverdale  ? ” repeated  Honora. 

“ It’s  our  place  in  the  country,”  Susan  replied.  “ The 
family  moved  up  last  week.  You  see,  the  trees  are  just 
beginning  to  bud.” 

Honora  was  silent  a moment,  gazing  at  the  picture. 


HONORA  HAS  A GLIMPSE  OF  THE  WORLD  77 


44  It’s  very  beautiful,  isn’t  it  ? You  never  told  me  about 
it.” 

“ Didn’t  I ? ” said  Susan.  “ I think  of  it  very  often. 
It  has  always  seemed  much  more  like  home  to  me  than  our 
house  in  New  York,  and  I love  it  better  than  any  spot  I 
know.” 

Honora  gazed  at  Susan,  who  had  resumed  her  reading. 
44  And  you  are  going  there  when  school  is  over.” 

44  Oh,  yes,”  said  Susan ; 44 1 can  hardly  wait.”  Suddenly 
she  put  down  her  letter,  and  looked  at  Honora. 

44  And  you,”  she  asked,  44  where  are  you  going  ? ” 

44 1 don’t  know.  Perhaps  — perhaps  I shall  go  to  the 
sea  for  a while  with  my  cousins.” 

It  was  foolish,  it  was  wrong.  But  for  the  life  of  her 
Honora  could  not  say  she  was  going  to  spend  the  long 
hot  summer  in  St.  Louis.  The  thought  of  it  had  haunted 
her  for  weeks  : and  sometimes,  when  the  other  girls  were 
discussing  their  plans,  she  had  left  them  abruptly.  And 
now  she  was  aware  that  Susan’s  blue  eyes  were  fixed 
upon  her,  and  that  they  had  a strange  and  penetrating 
quality  she  had  never  noticed  before  : a certain  tender- 
ness, an  understanding  that  made  Honora  redden  and 
turn. 

44 1 wish,”  said  Susan,  slowly,  44  that  you  would  come 
and  stay  awhile  with  me.  Your  home  is  so  far  away, 
and  I don’t  know  when  I shall  see  you  again.” 

44  Oh,  Susan,”  she  murmured,  44  it’s  awfully  good  of  you, 
but  I’m  afraid  — I couldn’t.” 

She  walked  to  the  window,  and  stood  looking  out  for  a 
moment  at  the  budding  trees.  Her  heart  was  beating 
faster,  and  she  was  strangely  uncomfortable. 

44 1 really  don’t  expect  to  go  to  the  sea,  Susan,”  she 
said.  44  You  see,  my  aunt  and  uncle  are  all  alone  in 
St.  Louis,  and  I ought  to  go  back  to  them.  If  — if  my 
father  had  lived,  it  might  have  been  different.  He  died, 
and  my  mother,  when  I was  little  more  than  a year  old.” 
Susan  was  all  sympathy.  She  slipped  her  hand  into 
Honora’s. 

44  Where  did  he  live  ? ” she  asked. 


78 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


“ Abroad,”  answered  Honora.  “ He  was  consul  at  Nice, 
and  had  a villa  there  when  he  died.  And  people  said  he 
had  an  unusually  brilliant  career  before  him.  My  aunt 
and  uncle  brought  me  up,  and  my  cousin,  Mrs.  Hanbury, 
Edith’s  mother,  and  Mary’s,  sent  me  here  to  school.” 

Honora  breathed  easier  after  this  confession,  but  it  was 
long  before  sleep  came  to  her  that  night.  She  wondered 
what  it  would  be  like  to  visit  at  a great  country  house 
such  as  Silverdale,  what  it  would  be  like  to  live  in  one. 
It  seemed  a strange  and  cruel  piece  of  irony  on  the  part 
of  the  fates  that  Susan,  instead  of  Honora,  should  have 
been  chosen  for  such  a life  : Susan,  who  would  have  been 
quite  as  happy  spending  her  summers  in  St.  Louis,  and 
taking  excursions  in  the  electric  cars  : Susan,  who  had 
never  experienced  that  dreadful,  vacuum-like  feeling, 
who  had  no  ambitious  craving  to  be  satisfied.  Mingled 
with  her  flushes  of  affection  for  Susan  was  a certain  queer 
feeling  of  contempt,  of  which  Honora  was  ashamed. 

Nevertheless,  in  the  days  that  followed,  a certain  meta- 
morphosis seemed  to  have  taken  place  in  Susan.  She 
was  still  the  same  modest,  self-effacing,  helpful  room- 
mate, but  in  Honora’s  eyes  she  had  changed  — Honora 
could  no  longer  separate  her  image  from  the  vision  of 
Silverdale.  And,  if  the  naked  truth  must  be  told,  it  was 
due  to  Silverdale  that  Susan  owes  the  honour  of  her  first 
mention  in  those  descriptive  letters  from  Sutcliffe,  which 
Aunt  Mary  has  kept  to  this  day. 

Four  days  later  Susan  had  a letter  from  her  mother 
containing  an  astonishing  discovery.  There  could  be  no 
mistake,  — Mrs.  Holt  had  brought  Honora  to  this  coun- 
try as  a baby. 

“ Why,  Susan,”  cried  Honora,  “ you  must  have  been 
the  other  baby.” 

“ But  you  were  the  beautiful  one,”  replied  Susan,  gen- 
erously. “ I have  often  heard  mother  tell  about  it,  and 
how  every  one  on  the  ship  noticed  you,  and  how  Hortense 
cried  when  your  aunt  and  uncle  took  you  away.  And 
to  think  we  have  been  rooming  together  all  these  months 
and  did  not  know  that  we  were  really  — old  friends ! 


HONORA  HAS  A GLIMPSE  OF  THE  WORLD  79 


And  Honora,  mother  says  you  must  come  to  Silverdale  to 
pay  us  a visit  when  school  closes.  She  wants  to  see  you. 
I think,”  added  Susan,  smiling,  “ I think  she  feels  respon- 
sible for  you.  She  says  that  you  must  give  me  your 
aunt’s  address,  and  that  she  will  write  to  her.” 

“Oh,  I’d  so  like  to  go,  Susan.  And  I don’t  think  Aunt 
Mary  would  object  — for  a little  while.” 

Honora  lost  no  time  in  writing  the  letter  asking  for  per- 
mission, and  it  was  not  until  after  she  had  posted  it  that 
she  felt  a sudden,  sharp  regret  as  she  thought  of  them 
in  their  loneliness.  But  the  postponement  of  her  home- 
coming would  only  be  for  a fortnight  at  best.  And  she 
had  seen  so  little! 

In  due  time  Aunt  Mary’s  letter  arrived.  There  was  no 
mention  of  loneliness  in  it,  only  of  joy  that  Honora  was 
to  have  the  opportunity  to  visit  such  a place  as  Silverdale. 
Aunt  Mary,  it  seems,  had  seen  pictures  of  it  long  ago  in 
a magazine  of  the  book  club,  in  an  article  concerning  one 
of  Mrs.  Holt’s  charities  — a model  home  for  indiscreet 
young  women.  At  the  end  of  the  year,  Aunt  Mary 
added,  she  had  bought  the  number  of  the  magazine,  be- 
cause of  her  natural  interest  in  Mrs.  Holt  on  Honora’s 
account.  Honora  cried  a little  over  that  letter,  but  her 
determination  to  go  to  Silverdale  was  unshaken. 

June  came  at  last,  and  the  end  of  school.  The  subject 
of  Miss  Turner’s  annual  talk  was  worldliness.  Miss 
Turner  saw  signs,  she  regretted  to  say,  of  a lowering  in 
the  ideals  of  American  women : of  a restlessness,  of  a 
desire  for  what  was  a false  consideration  and  recognition; 
for  power.  Some  of  her  own  pupils,  alas!  were  not  free 
from  this  fault.  Ethel  Wing,  who  was  next  to  Ho- 
nora, nudged  her  and  laughed,  and  passed  her  some  of 
Maillard’s  chocolates,  which  she  had  in  her  pocket. 
Woman’s  place,  continued  Miss  Turner,  was  the  home, 
and  she  hoped  they  would  all  make  good  wives.  She  had 
done  her  best  to  prepare  them  to  be  such.  Independence, 
they  would  find,  was  only  relative:  no  one  had  it  com- 
pletely. And  she  hoped  that  none  of  her  scholars  would 


80 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


ever  descend  to  that  base  competition  to  outdo  one’s 
neighbours,  so  characteristic  of  the  country  to-day. 

The  friends,  and  even  the  enemies,  were  kissed  good-by, 
with  pledges  of  eternal  friendship.  Cousin  Eleanor  Han- 
bury  came  for  Edith  and  Mary,  and  hoped  Honora  would 
enjoy  herself  at  Silverdale.  Dear  Cousin  Eleanor!  Her 
heart  was  large,  and  her  charity  unpretentious.  She 
slipped  into  Honora’s  fingers,  as  she  embraced  her,  a silver 
purse  with  some  gold  coins  in  it,  and  bade  her  not  to  for- 
get to  write  home  very  often. 

44  You  know  what  pleasure  it  will  give  them,  my  dear,” 
she  said,  as  she  stepped  on  the  train  for  New  York. 

44  And  I am  going  home  soon,  Cousin  Eleanor,”  replied 
Honora,  with  a little  touch  of  homesickness  in  her  voice. 

44 1 know,  dear,”  said  Mrs.  Hanbury.  But  there  was  a 
peculiar,  almost  wistful  expression  on  her  face  as  she 
kissed  Honora  again,  as  of  one  who  assents  to  a fiction  in 
order  to  humour  a child. 

As  the  train  pulled  out,  Ethel  Wing  waved  to  her 
from  the  midst  of  a group  of  girls  on  the  wide  rear  plat- 
form of  the  last  car.  It  was  Mr.  Wing’s  private  car, 
and  was  going  to  Newport. 

44  Be  good,  Honora!  ” she  cried. 


CHAPTER  VII 


THE  OLYMPIAN  ORDER 

Lying  back  in  the  chair  of  the  Pullman  and  gazing 
over  the  wide  Hudson  shining  in  the  afternoon  sun, 
Honora’s  imagination  ran  riot  until  the  seeming  possibili- 
ties of  life  became  infinite.  At  every  click  of  the  rails 
she  was  drawing  nearer  to  that  great  world  of  which 
she  had  dreamed,  a world  of  country  houses  inhabited  by 
an  Olympian  order.  To  be  sure,  Susan,  who  sat  reading 
in  the  chair  behind  her,  was  but  a humble  representative 
of  that  order  — but  Providence  sometimes  makes  use  of 
such  instruments.  The  picture  of  the  tall  and  brilliant 
Ethel  Wing  standing  behind  the  brass  rail  of  the  plat- 
form of  the  car  was  continually  recurring  to  Honora  as 
emblematic : of  Ethel,  in  a blue  tailor-made  gown  trimmed 
with  buff  braid,  and  which  fitted  her  slender  figure  with 
military  exactness.  Her  hair,  the  colour  of  the  yellowest 
of  gold,  in  the  manner  of  its  finish  seemed  somehow  to 
give  the  impression  of  that  metal;  and  the  militant  effect 
of  the  costume  had  been  heightened  by  a small  colonial 
cocked  hat.  If  the  truth  be  told,  Honora  had  secretly 
idealized  Miss  Wing,  and  had  found  her  insouciance, 
frankness,  and  tendency  to  ridicule  delightful.  Militant 
— that  was  indeed  Ethel’s  note  — militant  and  positive. 

“You’re  not  going  home  with  Susan!”  she  had  ex- 
claimed, making  a little  face  when  Honora  had  told  her. 
“ They  say  that  Silverdale  is  as  slow  as  a nunnery  — and 
you’re  on  your  knees  all  the  time.  You  ought  to  have 
come  to  Newport  with  me.” 

It  was  characteristic  of  Miss  Wing  that  she  seemed  to 
have  taken  no  account  of  the  fact  that  she  had  neglected 
G 81 


82 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


to  issue  this  alluring  invitation.  Life  at  Silverdale  slow! 
How  could  it  be  slow  amidst  such  beauty  and  magnificence? 

The  train  was  stopping  at  a new  little  station  on  which 
hung  the  legend,  in  gold  letters,  44  Sutton.”  The  sun  was 
well  on  his  journey  towards  the  western  hills.  Susan  had 
touched  her  on  the  shoulder. 

44  Here  we  are,  Honora,”  she  said,  and  added,  with  an 
unusual  tremor  in  her  voice,  44  at  last ! ” 

On  the  far  side  of  the  platform  a yellow,  two-seated 
wagon  was  waiting,  and  away  they  drove  through  the 
village,  with  its  old  houses  and  its  sleepy  streets  and  its 
orchards,  and  its  ancient  tavern  dating  from  stage-coach 
days.  Just  outside  of  it,  on  the  tree-dotted  slope  of  a 
long  hill,  was  a modern  brick  building,  exceedingly  prac- 
tical in  appearance,  surrounded  by  spacious  grounds  en- 
closed in  a paling  fence.  That,  Susan  said,  was  the  Sutton 
Home. 

44 Your  mother’s  charity?  ” 

A light  came  into  the  girl’s  eyes. 

44  So  you  have  heard  of  it?  Yes,  it  is  the  thing  that 
interests  mother  more  than  anything  else  in  the  world.” 

44  Oh,”  said  Honora,  44 1 hope  she  will  let  me  go  through 
it.” 

44  I’m  sure  she  will  want  to  take  you  there  to-morrow,” 
answered  Susan,  and  she  smiled. 

The  road  wound  upwards,  by  the  valley  of  a brook, 
through  the  hills,  now  wooded,  now  spread  with  pastures 
that  shone  golden  green  in  the  evening  light,  the  herds 
gathering  at  the  gate-bars.  Presently  they  came  to  a 
gothic-looking  stone  building,  with  a mediaeval  bridge 
thrown  across  the  stream  in  front  of  it,  and  massive  gates 
flung  open.  As  they  passed,  Honora  had  a glimpse  of  a 
blue  driveway  under  the  arch  of  the  forest.  An  elderly 
woman  looked  out  at  them  through  the  open  half  of  a 
leaded  lattice. 

44  That’s  the  Chamberlin  estate,”  Susan  volunteered. 
44  Mr.  Chamberlin  has  built  a castle  on  the  top  of  that 
hill.” 

Honora  caught  her  breath. 


THE  OLYMPIAN  ORDER 


83 


“ Are  many  of  the  places  here  like  that  ? ” she  asked. 

Susan  laughed. 

“ Some  people  don’t  think  the  place  is  very  — appropri- 
ate,” she  contented  herself  with  replying. 

A little  later,  as  they  climbed  higher,  other  houses  could 
be  discerned  dotted  about  the  country-side,  nearly  all  of 
them  varied  expressions  of  the  passion  for  a new  architec- 
ture which  seemed  to  possess  the  rich.  Most  of  them  were 
in  conspicuous  positions,  and  surrounded  by  wide  acres. 
Each,  to  Honora,  was  an  inspiration. 

“I  had  no  idea  there  were  so  many  people  here,”  she 
said. 

44  I’m  afraid  Sutton  is  becoming  fashionable,”  answered 
Susan. 

44  And  don’t  you  want  it  to  ? ” asked  Honora. 

44  It  was  very  nice  before,”  said  Susan,  quietly. 

Honora  was  silent.  They  turned  in  between  two  simple 
stone  pillars  that  divided  a low  wall,  overhung  from  the 
inside  by  shrubbery  growing  under  the  forest.  Susan 
seized  her  friend’s  hand  and  pressed  it. 

44  I’m  always  so  glad  to  get  back  here,”  she  whispered. 
“ I hope  you’ll  like  it.” 

Honora  returned  the  pressure. 

The  grey  road  forked,  and  forked  again.  Suddenly  the 
forest  came  to  an  end  in  a sort  of  premeditated  tangle  of 
wild  garden,  and  across  a wide  lawn  the  great  house 
loomed  against  the  western  sky.  Its  architecture  was  of  the 
’ 60’s  and  ’TO’s,  with  a wide  porte-cochere  that  sheltered 
the  high  entrance  doors.  These  were  both  flung  open,  a 
butler  and  two  footmen  were  standing  impassively  beside 
them,  and  a neat  maid  within.  Honora  climbed  the  steps 
as  in  a dream,  followed  Susan  through  a hall  with  a black- 
walnut,  fretted  staircase,  and  where  she  caught  a glimpse 
of  two  huge  Chinese  vases,  to  a porch  on  the  other  side  of 
the  house  spread  with  wicker  chairs  and  tables.  Out  of  a 
group  of  people  at  the  farther  end  of  this  porch  arose  an 
elderly  lady,  who  came  forward  and  clasped  Susan  in  her 
arms. 

44 And  is  this  Honora?  How  do  you  do,  my  dear?  I 


84 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


had  the  pleasure  of  knowing  you  when  you  were  much 
younger.” 

Honora,  too,  was  gathered  to  that  ample  bosom.  Re- 
leased, she  beheld  a lady  in  a mauve  satin  gown,  at  the 
throat  of  which  a cameo  brooch  was  fastened.  Mrs. 
Holt’s  face  left  no  room  for  conjecture  as  to  the  character 
of  its  possessor.  Her  hair,  of  a silvering  blend,  parted  in 
the  middle,  fitted  tightly  to  her  head.  She  wore  ear- 
rings. In  short,  her  appearance  was  in  every  way  sug- 
gestive of  momentum,  of  a force  which  the  wise  would 
respect. 

“Where  are  you,  Joshua?”  she  said.  “This  is  the 
baby  we  brought  from  Nice.  Come  and  tell  me  whether 
you  would  recognize  her.” 

Mr.  Holt  released  his  daughter.  He  had  a mild  blue 
eye,  white  mutton-chop  whiskers,  and  very  thin  hands, 
and  his  tweed  suit  was  decidedly  the  worse  for  wear. 

“ I can’t  say  that  I should,  Elvira,”  he  replied;  “ although 
it  is  not  hard  to  believe  that  such  a beautiful  baby  should 
prove  to  be  such  a — er  — good-looking  young  woman.” 

“ I’ve  always  felt  very  grateful  to  you  for  bringing  me 
back,”  said  Honora. 

“Tut,  tut,  child,”  said  Mrs.  Holt;  “there  was  no  one 
else  to  do  it.  And  be  careful  how  you  pay  young  women 
compliments,  Joshua.  They  grow  vain  enough.  By  the 
way,  my  dear,  what  ever  became  of  your  maternal  grand- 
father, old  Mr.  Allison  — wasn’t  that  his  name  ? ” 

“ He  died  when  I was  very  young,”  replied  Honora. 

“ He  was  too  fond  of  the  good  things  of  this  life,”  said 
Mrs.  Holt. 

“ My  dear  Elvira!  ” her  husband  protested. 

“ I can’t  help  it,  he  was,”  retorted  that  lady.  “ I am 
a judge  of  human  nature,  and  I was  relieved,  I can  tell 
you,  my  dear”  (to  Honora),  “when  I saw  your  uncle 
and  aunt  on  the  wharf  that  morning.  I knew  that  I had 
confided  you  to  good  hands.” 

“ They  have  done  everything  for  me,  Mrs.  Holt,”  said 
Honora. 

The  good  lady  patted  her  approvingly  on  the  shoulder. 


THE  OLYMPIAN  ORDER 


85 


“ I’m  sure  of  it,  my  dear,”  she  said.  “ And  I am  glad  to 
see  you  appreciate  it.  And  now  you  must  renew  your 
acquaintance  with  the  family.” 

A sister  and  a brother,  Honora  had  already  learned  from 
Susan,  had  died  since  she  had  crossed  the  ocean  with  them. 
Robert  and  Joshua,  Junior,  remained.  Both  were  heavy- 
set,  with  rather  stern  faces,  both  had  close-cropped,  tan- 
coloured  mustaches  and  wide  jaws,  with  blue  eyes  like 
Susan’s.  Both  were,  with  women  at  least,  what  the  French 
would  call  difficult  — Robert  less  so  than  Joshua.  They 
greeted  Honora  reservedly  and  — she  could  not  help  feel- 
ing— a little  suspiciously.  And  their  appearance  was 
something  of  a shock  to  her;  they  did  not,  somehow,  “go 
with  the  house,”  and  they  dressed  even  more  carelessly 
than  Peter  Erwin.  This  was  particularly  true  of  Joshua, 
whose  low,  turned-down  collar  revealed  a porous,  brick-red, 
and  extremely  virile  neck,  and  whose  clothes  were  creased 
at  the  knees  and  across  the  back. 

As  for  their  wives,  Mrs.  Joshua  was  a merry,  brown- 
eyed little  lady  already  inclining  to  stoutness,  and  Honora 
felt  at  home  with  her  at  once.  Mrs.  Robert  was  tall  and 
thin,  with  an  olive  face  and  dark  eyes  which  gave  the 
impression  of  an  uncomfortable  penetration.  She  was 
dressed  simply  in  a shirtwaist  and  a dark  skirt,  but 
Honora  thought  her  striking  looking. 

The  grandchildren,  playing  on  and  off  the  porch,  seemed 
legion,  and  they  were  besieging  Susan.  In  reality  there 
were  seven  of  them,  of  all  sizes  and  sexes,  from  the  third 
Joshua  with  a tennis-bat  to  the  youngest  who  was  weep- 
ing at  being  sent  to  bed,  and  holding  on  to  her  Aunt  Susan 
with  desperation.  When  Honora  had  greeted  them  all, 
and  kissed  some  of  them,  she  was  informed  that  there  were 
two  more  upstairs,  safely  tucked  away  in  cribs. 

“ I’m  sure  you  love  children,  don’t  you  ? ” said  Mrs. 
Joshua.  She  spoke  impulsively,  and  yet  with  a kind  of 
childlike  shyness. 

“I  adore  them,”  exclaimed  Honora. 

A trellised  arbour  (which  some  years  later  would  have 
been  called  a pergola)  led  from  the  porch  up  the  hill 


86 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


to  an  old-fashioned  summer-house  on  the  crest.  And 
thither,  presently,  Susan  led  Honora  for  a view  of  the 
distant  western  hills  silhouetted  in  black  against  a flaming 
western  sky,  before  escorting  her  to  her  room.  The  vast- 
ness of  the  house,  the  width  of  the  staircase,  and  the  size 
of  the  second-story  hall  impressed  our  heroine. 

44  I’ll  send  a maid  to  you  later,  dear,”  Susan  said.  “ If 
you  care  to  lie  down  for  half  an  hour,  no  one  will  disturb 
you.  And  I hope  you  will  be  comfortable.” 

Comfortable  ! When  the  door  had  closed,  Honora 
glanced  around  her  and  sighed,  44  comfort  ” seemed  such 
a strangely  inadequate  word.  She  was  reminded  of  the 
illustrations  she  had  seen  of  English  country  houses.  The 
bed  alone  would  almost  have  filled  her  little  room  at  home. 
On  the  farther  side,  in  an  alcove,  was  a huge  dressing- 
table  ; a fire  was  laid  in  the  grate  of  the  marble  mantel, 
the  curtains  in  the  bay  window  were  tightly  drawn,  and 
near  by  was  a lounge  with  a reading-light.  A huge  mahog- 
any wardrobe  occupied  one  corner ; in  another  stood  a pier 
glass,  and  in  another,  near  the  lounge,  was  a small  book- 
case filled  with  books.  Honora  looked  over  them  curi- 
ously. 44  Robert  Elsmere  ” and  a life  of  Christ,  44  Mr. 
Isaacs,”  a book  of  sermons  by  an  eminent  clergyman,  44  In- 
nocents Abroad,”  Hare’s  44  Walks  in  Rome,”  44  When  a 
Man’s  Single,”  by  Barrie,  a book  of  meditations,  and 
44  Organized  Charities  for  Women.” 

Adjoining  the  bedroom  was  a bathroom  in  proportion,  — 
evidently  all  her  own,  — with  a huge  porcelain  tub  and  a 
table  set  with  toilet  bottles  containing  liquids  of  various 
colours. 

Dreamily,  Honora  slipped  on  the  new  dressing-gown 
Aunt  Mary  had  made  for  her,  and  took  a book  out  of  the 
bookcase.  It  was  the  volume  of  sermons.  But  she  could 
not  read  : she  was  forever  looking  about  the  room,  and 
thinking  of  the  family  she  had  met  downstairs.  Of  course, 
when  one  lived  in  a house  like  this,  one  could  afford  to 
dress  and  act  as  one  liked.  She  was  aroused  from  her  re- 
flections by  the  soft  but  penetrating  notes  of  a Japanese 
gong,  followed  by  a gentle  knock  on  the  door  and  the  en- 


THE  OLYMPIAN  ORDER 


87 


trance  of  an  elderly  maid,  who  informed  her  it  was  time 
to  dress  for  dinner. 

“If  you’ll  excuse  me,  Miss,”  said  that  hitherto  silent 
individual  when  the  operation  was  completed,  “ you  do 
look  lovely.” 

Honora,  secretly,  was  of  that  opinion  too  as  she  sur- 
veyed herself  in  the  long  glass.  The  simple  summer  silk, 
of  a deep  and  glowing  pink,  rivalled  the  colour  in  her 
cheeks,  and  contrasted  with  the  dark  and  shining  masses 
of  her  hair ; and  on  her  neck  glistened  a little  pendant  of 
her  mother’s  jewels,  which  Aunt  Mary,  with  Cousin  Elea- 
nor’s assistance,  had  had  set  in  New  York.  Honora’s  fig- 
ure was  that  of  a woman  of  five  and  twenty : her  neck 
was  a slender  column,  her  head  well  set,  and  the  look  of 
race,  which  had  been  hers  since  childhood,  was  at  nineteen 
more  accentuated.  All  this  she  saw,  and  went  down  the 
stairs  in  a kind  of  exultation.  And  when  on  the  thresh- 
old of  the  drawing-room  she  paused,  the  conversation 
suddenly  ceased.  Mr.  Holt  and  his  sons  got  up  some- 
what precipitately,  and  Mrs.  Holt  came  forward  to  meet 
her. 

“ I hope  you  weren’t  waiting  for  me,”  said  Honora, 
timidly. 

“No  indeed,  my  dear,”  said  Mrs.  Holt.  Tucking  Ho- 
nora’s hand  under  her  arm,  she  led  the  way  majestically 
to  the  dining-room,  a large  apartment  with  a dimly  lighted 
conservatory  at  the  farther  end,  presided  over  by  the  de- 
corous butler  and  his  assistants.  A huge  chandelier  with 
prisms  hung  over  the  flowers  at  the  centre  of  the  table, 
which  sparkled  with  glass  and  silver,  while  dishes  of  ver- 
milion and  yellow  fruits  relieved  the  whiteness  of  the  cloth. 
Honora  found  herself  beside  Mr.  Holt,  who  looked  more 
shrivelled  than  ever  in  his  evening  clothes.  And  she 
was  about  to  address  him  when,  with  a movement  as  though 
to  forestall  her,  he  leaned  forward  convulsively  and  began 
a mumbling  grace. 

The  dinner  itself  was  more  like  a ceremony  than  a meal, 
and  as  it  proceeded,  Honora  found  it  increasingly  difficult 
to  rid  herself  of  a curious  feeling  of  being  on  probation. 


88 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


Joshua,  who  sat  on  her  other  side  and  ate  prodigiously, 
scarcely  addressed  a word  to  her  ; but  she  gathered  from 
his  remarks  to  his  father  and  brother  that  he  was  interested 
in  cows.  And  Mr.  Holt  was  almost  exclusively  oc- 
cupied in  slowly  masticating  the  special  dishes  which  the 
butler  impressively  laid  before  him.  He  asked  her  a few 
questions  about  Miss  Turner’s  school,  but  it  was  not  until 
she  had  admired  the  mass  of  peonies  in  the  centre  of  the 
table  that  his  eyes  brightened,  and  he  smiled. 

“ You  like  flowers  ? ” he  asked. 

“ I love  them,”  said  Honora. 

“ I am  the  gardener  here,”  he  said.  “ You  must  see  my 
garden,  Miss  Leffingwell.  I am  in  it  by  half-past  six 
every  morning,  rain  or  shine.” 

Honora  looked  up,  and  surprised  Mrs.  Robert’s  eyes 
fixed  on  her  with  the  same  strange  expression  she  had 
noticed  on  her  arrival.  And  for  some  senseless  reason, 
she  flushed. 

The  conversation  was  chiefly  carried  on  by  kindly 
little  Mrs.  Joshua  and  by  Mrs.  Holt,  who  seemed  at  once 
to  preside  and  to  dominate.  She  praised  Honora’s  gown, 
but  left  a lingering  impression  that  she  thought  her  over- 
dressed, without  definitely  saying  so.  And  she  made 
innumerable  — and  often  embarrassing  — inquiries  about 
Honora’s  aunt  and  uncle,  and  her  life  in  St.  Louis,  and  her 
friends  there,  and  how  she  had  happened  to  go  to  Sutcliffe 
to  school.  Sometimes  Honora  blushed,  but  she  answered 
them  all  good-naturedly.  And  when  at  length  the  meal 
had  marched  sedately  down  to  the  fruit,  Mrs.  Holt  rose 
and  drew  Honora  out  of  the  dining  room. 

“ It  is  a little  hard  on  you,  my  dear,”  she  said,  “to  give 
you  so  much  family  on  your  arrival.  But  there  are  some 
other  people  coming  to-morrow,  when  it  will  be  gayer, 
I hope,  for  you  and  Susan.” 

“ It  is  so  good  of  you  and  Susan  to  want  me,  Mrs.  Holt,” 
replied  Honora,  “ I am  enjoying  it  so  much.  I have  never 
been  in  a big  country  house  like  this,  and  I am  glad 
there  is  no  one  else  here.  I have  heard  my  aunt  speak  of 
you  so  often,  and  tell  how  kind  you  were  to  take  charge 


THE  OLYMPIAN  ORDER 


89 


of  me,  that  I have  always  hoped  to  know  yon  sometime  or 
other.  And  it  seems  the  strangest  of  coincidences  that  I 
should  have  roomed  with  Susan  at  Sutcliffe.” 

44  Susan  has  grown  very  fond  of  you,”  said  Mrs.  Holt, 
graciously.  “ We  are  very  glad  to  have  you,  my  dear,  and 
I must  own  that  I had  a curiosity  to  see  you  again. 
Your  aunt  struck  me  as  a good  and  sensible  woman,  and 
it  was  a positive  relief  to  know  that  you  were  to  be  con- 
fided to  her  care.”  Mrs.  Holt,  however,  shook  her  head 
and  regarded  Honora,  and  her  next  remark  might  have 
been  taken  as  a clew  to  her  thoughts.  44  But  we  are  not 
very  gay  at  Silverdale,  Honora.” 

Honora’s  quick  intuition  detected  the  implication  of  a 
frivolity  which  even  her  sensible  aunt  had  not  been  able 
to  eradicate. 

44  Oh,  Mrs.  Holt,”  she  cried,  44 1 shall  be  so  happy  here, 
just  seeing  things  and  being  among  you.  And  I am  so 
interested  in  the  little  bit  I have  seen  already.  I caught 
a glimpse  of  your  girls’  home  on  my  way  from  the  station. 
I hope  you  will  take  me  there.” 

Mrs.  Holt  gave  her  a quick  look,  but  beheld  in  Ho- 
nora’s clear  eyes  only  eagerness  and  ingenuousness. 

The  change  in  the  elderly  lady’s  own  expression,  and 
incidentally  in  the  atmosphere  which  enveloped  her,  was 
remarkable. 

44  Would  you  really  like  to  go,  my  dear  ? ” 

44  Oh,  yes  indeed,”  cried  Honora.  44  You  see,  I have 
heard  so  much  of  it,  and  I should  like  to  write  my  aunt 
about  it.  She  is  interested  in  the  work  you  are  doing, 
and  she  has  kept  a magazine  with  an  article  in  it,  and  a 
picture  of  the  institution.” 

44  Dear  me  ! ” exclaimed  the  lady,  now  visibly  pleased. 
44  It  is  a very  modest  little  work,  my  dear.  I had  no  idea 
that  — out  in  St.  Louis  — that  the  beams  of  my  little  candle 
had  carried  so  far.  Indeed  you  shall  see  it,  Honora.  We 
will  go  down  the  first  thing  in  the  morning.” 

Mrs.  Robert,  who  had  been  sitting  on  the  other  side  of 
the  room,  rose  abruptly  and  came  towards  them.  There 
was  something  very  like  a smile  on  her  face,  — although 


90 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


it  wasn’t  really  a smile  — as  she  bent  over  and  kissed  her 
mother-in-law  on  the  cheek. 

44 1 am  glad  to  hear  you  are  interested  in  — charities, 
Miss  Leffingwell,”  she  said. 

Honora’s  face  grew  warm. 

44 1 have  not  so  far  had  very  much  to  do  with  them,  I 
am  afraid,”  she  answered. 

44  How  should  she  ? ” demanded  Mrs.  Holt.  44  Gwen- 
dolen, you’re  not  going  up  already  ? ” 

44 1 have  some  letters  to  write,”  said  Mrs.  Robert. 

44  Gwen  has  helped  me  immeasurably,”  said  Mrs.  Holt, 
looking  after  the  tall  figure  of  her  daughter-in-law,  44  but 
she  has  a curious,  reserved  character.  You  have  to  know 
her,  my  dear.  She  is  not  at  all  like  Susan,  for  in- 
stance.” 

Honora  awoke  the  next  morning  to  a melody,  and  lay 
for  some  minutes  in  a delicious  semi-consciousness,  won- 
dering where  she  was.  Presently  she  discovered  that  the 
notes  were  those  of  a bird  on  a tree  immediately  outside 
of  her  window  — a tree  of  wonderful  perfection,  the  lower 
branches  of  which  swept  the  ground.  Other  symmetrical 
trees,  of  many  varieties,  dotted  a velvet  lawn,  which 
formed  a great  natural  terrace  above  the  forested  valley 
of  Silver  Brook.  On  the  grass,  dew-drenched  cobwebs 
gleamed  in  the  early  sun,  and  the  breeze  that  stirred  the 
curtains  was  charged  with  the  damp,  fresh  odours  of  the 
morning.  Voices  caught  her  ear,  and  two  figures  appeared 
in  the  distance.  One  she  recognized  as  Mr.  Holt,  and  the 
other  was  evidently  a gardener.  The  gilt  clock  on  the 
mantel  pointed  to  a quarter  of  seven. 

It  is  far  too  late  in  this  history  to  pretend  that  Honora 
was,  by  preference,  an  early  riser,  and  therefore  it  must 
have  been  the  excitement  caused  by  her  surroundings 
that  made  her  bathe  and  dress  with  alacrity  that  morning. 
A housemaid  was  dusting  the  stairs  as  she  descended  into 
the  empty  hall.  She  crossed  the  lawn,  took  a path 
through  the  trees  that  bordered  it,  and  came  suddenly 
upon  an  old-fashioned  garden  in  all  the  freshness  of  its 
early  morning  colour.  In  one  of  the  winding  paths  she 


THE  OLYMPIAN  ORDER 


91 


stopped  with  a little  exclamation.  Mr,  Holt  rose  from 
his  knees  in  front  of  her,  where  he  had  been  digging  in- 
dustriously with  a trowel.  His  greeting,  when  contrasted 
with  his  comparative  taciturnity  at  dinner  the  night  be- 
fore, was  almost  effusive-— and  a little  pathetic. 

44  My  dear  young  lady,”  he  exclaimed,  44  up  so  early  ? ” 
He  held  up  forbiddingly  a mould-covered  palm.  “ I can’t 
shake  hands  with  you.” 

Honora  laughed. 

44  I couldn’t  resist  the  temptation  to  see  your  garden,” 
she  said. 

A gentle  light  gleamed  in  his  blue  eyes,  and  he  paused 
before  a trellis  of  June  roses.  With  his  gardening  knife 
he  cut  three  of  them,  and  held  them  gallantly  against  her 
white  gown.  Her  sensitive  colour  responded  as  she 
thanked  him,  and  she  pinned  them  deftly  at  her  waist. 

44  You  like  gardens  ? ” he  said. 

44  I was  brought  up  with  them,”  she  answered ; 44 1 
mean,”  she  corrected  herself  swiftly,  44  in  a very  modest 
way.  My  uncle  is  passionately  fond  of  flowers,  and  he 
makes  our  little  yard  bloom  with  them  all  summer.  But 
of  course,”  Honora  added,  44  I’ve  never  seen  anything  like 
this.” 

44  It  has  been  a life  work,”  answered  Mr.  Holt,  proudly, 
44  and  yet  I feel  as  though  I had  not  yet  begun.  Come,  I 
will  show  you  the  peonies  — they  are  at  their  best  — be- 
fore I go  in  and  make  myself  respectable  for  breakfast.” 

Ten  minutes  later,  as  they  approached  the  house  in 
amicable  and  even  lively  conversation,  they  beheld  Susan 
and  Mrs.  Robert  standing  on  the  steps  under  the  porte- 
cochere,  watching  them. 

44  Why,  Honora,”  cried  Susan,  44  how  energetic  you  are ! 
I actually  had  a shock  when  I went  to  your  room  and 
found  you’d  gone.  I’ll  have  to  write  Miss  Turner.” 

44  Don’t,”  pleaded  Honora;  44 you  see,  I had  every  in- 
ducement to  get  up.” 

44  She  has  been  well  occupied,”  put  in  Mr.  Holt.  44  She 
has  been  admiring  my  garden.” 

44  Indeed  I have,”  said  Honora. 


92 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


“Oh,  then,  you  have  won  father’s  heart ! ” cried  Susan. 
Gwendolen  Holt  smiled.  Her  eyes  were  fixed  upon  the 
roses  in  Honora’s  belt. 

“ Good  morning,  Miss  Leffingwell,”  she  said,  simply. 

Mr.  Holt  having  removed  the  loam  from  his  hands,  the 
whole  family,  excepting  Joshua,  Junior,  and  including  an 
indefinite  number  of  children,  and  Carroll,  the  dignified 
butler,  and  Martha,  the  elderly  maid,  trooped  into  the  li- 
brary for  prayers.  Mr.  Holt  sat  down  before  a teak-wood 
table  at  the  end  of  the  room,  on  which  reposed  a great, 
morocco-covered  Bible.  Adjusting  his  spectacles,  he  read, 
in  a mild  but  impressive  voice,  a chapter  of  Matthew,  while 
Mrs.  Joshua  tried  to  quiet  her  youngest.  Honora  sat  star- 
ing at  a figure  on  the  carpet,  uncomfortably  aware  that 
Mrs.  Robert  was  still  studying  her.  Mr.  Holt  closed  the 
Bible  reverently,  and  announced  a prayer,  whereupon  the 
family  knelt  upon  the  floor  and  leaned  their  elbows  on 
the  seats  of  their  chairs.  Honora  did  likewise,  wondering 
at  the  facility  with  which  Mr.  Holt  worded  his  appeal,  and. 
at  the  number  of  things  he  found  to  pray  for.  Her  knees 
had  begun  to  ache  before  he  had  finished. 

At  breakfast  such  a cheerful  spirit  prevailed  that  Honora 
began  almost  to  feel  at  home.  Even  Robert  indulged  oc- 
casionally in  raillery. 

“ Where  in  the  world  is  Josh  ? ” asked  Mrs.  Holt,  after 
they  were  seated. 

“ I forgot  to  tell  you,  mother,”  little  Mrs.  Joshua  chirped 
up,  “ that  he  got  up  at  an  unearthly  hour,  and  went  over 
to  Grafton  to  look  at  a cow.” 

“A  cow!  ” sighed  Mrs.  Holt.  “ Oh,  dear,  I might  have 
known  it.  You  must  understand,  Honora,  that  every 
member  of  the  Holt  family  has  a hobby.  Joshua’s  is 
Jerseys.” 

“ I’m  sure  I should  adore  them  if  I lived  in  the  coun- 
try,” Honora  declared. 

“ If  you  and  Joshua  would  only  take  that  Sylvester  farm, 
and  build  a house,  Annie,”  said  Mr.  Holt,  munching  the 
dried  bread  which  was  specially  prepared  for  him,  “I 
should  be  completely  happy.  Then,”  he  added,  turning 


THE  OLYMPIAN  ORDER 


93 


to  Honora,  44 1 should  have  both  my  sons  settled  on  the 
place.  Robert  and  Gwen  are  sensible  in  building.” 

44  It’s  cheaper  to  live  with  you,  granddad,”  laughed  Mrs. 
Joshua.  44  Josh  says  if  we  do  that,  he  has  more  money  to 
buy  cows.” 

At  this  moment  a footman  entered,  and  presented  Mrs. 
Holt  with  some  mail  on  a silver  tray. 

44  The  Vicomte  de  Toqueville  is  coming  this  afternoon, 
Joshua,”  she  announced,  reading  rapidly  from  a sheet  on 
which  was  visible  a large  crown.  44  He  landed  in  New 
York  last  week,  and  writes  to  know  if  I could  have  him.” 

44  Another  of  mother’s  menagerie,”  remarked  Robert. 

44 1 don’t  think  that’s  nice  of  you,  Robert,”  said  his 
mother.  44The  Yicomte  was  very  kind  to  your  father  and 
me  in  Paris,  and  invited  us  to  his  chateau  in  Provence.” 

Robert  was  sceptical. 

44  Are  you  sure  he  had  one  ? ” he  insisted. 

Even  Mr.  Holt  laughed. 

44  Robert,”  said  his  mother,  44 1 wish  Gwen  could  induce 
you  to  travel  more.  Perhaps  you  would  learn  that  all 
foreigners  aren’t  fortune-hunters.” 

44  I’ve  had  an  opportunity  to  observe  the  ones  who 
come  over  here,  mother.” 

44 1 won’t  have  a prospective  guest  discussed,”  Mrs. 
Holt  declared,  with  finality.  44  Joshua,  you  remember  my 
telling  you  last  spring  that  Martha  Spence’s  son  called  on 
me  ? ” she  asked.  44  He  is  in  business  with  a man  named 
Dallam,  I believe,  and  making  a great  deal  of  money  for 
a young  man.  He  is  just  a year  younger  than  you, 
Robert.” 

44  Do  you  mean  that  fat,  tow-headed  boy  that  used  to 
come  up  here  and  eat  melons  and  ride  my  pony  ? ” inquired 
Robert.  44  Howard  Spence  ? ” 

Mrs.  Holt  smiled. 

44  He  isn’t  fat  any  longer,  Robert.  Indeed,  he’s  quite 
good-looking.  Since  his  mother  died,  I had  lost  trace  of 
him.  But  1 found  a photograph  of  hers  when  I was  clear- 
ing up  my  desk  some  months  ago,  and  sent  it  to  him,  and 
he  came  to  thank  me.  I forgot  to  tell  you  that  I invited 


94 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


him  for  a fortnight  any  time  he  chose,  and  he  has  just 
written  to  ask  if  he  may  come  now.  I regret  to  say  that 
he’s  on  the  Stock  Exchange  — but  I was  very  fond  of  his 
mother.  It  doesn’t  seem  to  me  quite  a legitimate  business.” 
44  Why  !”  exclaimed  little  Mrs.  Joshua,  unexpectedly, 
44  I’m  given  to  understand  that  the  Stock  Exchange  is 
quite  aristocratic  in  these  days.” 

44  I’m  afraid  I am  old-fashioned,  my  dear,”  said  Mrs. 
Holt,  rising.  44  It  has  always  seemed  to  me  little  better 
than  a gambling  place.  Honora,  if  you  still  wish  to  go 
to  the  Girls’  Home,  I have  ordered  the  carriage  in  a 
quarter  of  an  hour.” 


CHAPTER  VIII 


A CHAPTER  OF  CONQUESTS 

Honora’s  interest  in  the  Institution  was  so  lively,  and 
she  asked  so  many  questions  and  praised  so  highly  the 
work  with  which  the  indiscreet  young  women  were  oc- 
cupied that  Mrs.  Holt  patted  her  hand  as  they  drove 
homeward. 

“ My  dear,”  she  said,  “ I begin  to  wish  I’d  adopted  you 
myself.  Perhaps,  later  on,  we  can  find  a husband  for  you, 
and  you  will  marry  and  settle  down  near  us  here  at  Silver- 
dale,  and  then  you  can  help  me  with  the  work.” 

“ Oh,  Mrs.  Holt,”  she  replied,  “ I should  so  like  to  — 
help  you,  I mean.  And  it  would  be  wonderful  to  live  in 
such  a place.  And  as  for  marriage,  it  seems  such  a long 
way  off  that  somehow  I never  think  of  it.” 

“Naturally,”  ejaculated  Mrs.  Holt,  with  approval,  ua 
young  girl  of  your  age  should  not.  But,  my  dear,  I am 
afraid  you  are  destined  to  have  many  admirers.  If  you 
had  not  been  so  well  brought  up,  and  were  not  naturally 
so  sensible,  I should  fear  for  you.” 

“ Oh,  Mrs.  Holt ! ” exclaimed  Honora,  deprecatingly, 
and  blushing  very  prettily. 

“ Whatever  else  I am,”  said  Mrs.  Holt,  vigorously,  “ I 
am  not  a flatterer.  I am  telling  you  something  for  your 
own  good  — which  you  probably  know  already.” 

Honora  was  discreetly  silent.  She  thought  of  the 
proud  and  unsusceptible  George  Hanbury,  whom  she  had 
cast  down  from  the  tower  of  his  sophomore  dignity  with 
such  apparent  ease ; and  of  certain  gentlemen  at  home, 
young  and  middle-aged,  who  had  behaved  foolishly  during 
the  Christmas  holidays. 

At  lunch  both  the  Roberts  and  the  Joshuas  were  away. 

95 


96 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


Afterwards  they  romped  with  the  children — she  and 
Susan.  They  were  shy  at  first,  especially  the  third 
Joshua,  but  Honora  captivated  him  by  playing  two  sets 
of  tennis  in  the  broiling  sun,  at  the  end  of  which  exer- 
cise he  regarded  her  with  a new-born  admiration  in  his 
eyes.  He  was  thirteen. 

“ I didn’t  think  you  were  that  kind  at  all,”  he  said. 

“ What  kind  did  you  think  I was  ? ” asked  Honora, 
passing  her  arm  around  his  shoulder  as  they  walked  tow- 
ards the  house. 

The  boy  grew  scarlet. 

“Oh,  I didn’t  think  you  — you  could  play  tennis,”  he 
stammered. 

Honora  stopped,  and  seized  his  chin  and  tilted  his  face 
upward. 

“Now,  Joshua,”  she  said,  “look  at  me  and  say  that  over 
again.” 

“Well,”  he  replied  desperately,  “ I thought  you  wouldn’t 
want  to  get  all  mussed  up  and  hot.” 

“That’s  better,”  said  Honora.  “You  thought  I was 
vain,  didn’t  you  ? ” 

“ But  I don’t  think  so  any  more,”  he  avowed  passion- 
ately. “ I think  you’re  a trump.  And  we’ll  play  again 
to-morrow,  won’t  we?” 

“ We’ll  play  any  day  you  like,”  she  declared. 

It  is  unfair  to  suppose  that  the  arrival  of  a real  vicomte 
and  of  a young,  good-looking,  and  successful  member  of  the 
New  York  Stock  Exchange  were  responsible  for  Honora’s 
appearance,  an  hour  later,  in  the  embroidered  linen  gown 
which  Cousin  Eleanor  had  given  her  that  spring.  Tea 
was  already  in  progress  on  the  porch,  and  if  a hush  in  the 
conversation  and  the  scraping  of  chairs  is  any  sign  of  a 
sensation,  this  happened  when  our  heroine  appeared  in 
the  doorway.  And  Mrs.  Holt,  in  the  act  of  lifting  the 
hot-water  kettle,  put  it  down  again.  Whether  or  not 
there  was  approval  in  the  lady’s  delft-blue  eye,  Honora 
could  not  have  said.  The  Vicomte,  with  the  graceful 
facility  of  his  race,  had  differentiated  himself  from  the 
group  and  stood  before  her.  As  soon  as  the  words  of 


A CHAPTER  OF  CONQUESTS 


97 


introduction  were  pronounced,  he  made  a bow  that  was  a 
tribute  in  itself,  exaggerated  in  its  respect. 

“ It  is  a pleasure,  Mademoiselle,”  he  murmured,  but  his 
eyes  were  more  eloquent. 

A description  of  him  in  his  own  language  leaped  into 


Honora’s  mind,  so  much  did  he  appear  to  have  walked  out 
of  one  of  the  many  yellow-backed  novels  she  had  read.  He 
was  not  tall,  but  beautifully  made,  and  his  coat  was  quite 
absurdly  cut  in  at  the  waist ; his  mustache  was  en-croc, 
and  its  points  resembled  those  of  the  Spanish  bayonets 
in  the  conservatory  : he  might  have  been  three  and  thirty, 
and  he  was  what  the  novels  described  as  un  peu  fan6  — 


98 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


which  means  that  he  had  seen  the  world  : his  eyes  were 
extraordinarily  bright,  black,  and  impenetrable. 

A greater  contrast  to  the  Vicomte  than  Mr.  Howard 
Spence  would  have  been  difficult  to  find.  He  was  Honora’s 
first  glimpse  of  Finance,  of  the  powers  that  travelled  in 
private  cars  and  despatched  ships  across  the  ocean.  And 
in  our  modern  mythology,  he  might  have  stood  for  the  god 
of  Prosperity.  Prosperity  is  pink,  and  so  was  Mr.  Spence,  in 
two  places,  — his  smooth-shaven  cheeks  and  his  shirt.  His 
flesh  had  a certain  firmness,  but  he  was  not  stout ; he  was 
merely  well  fed,  as  Prosperity  should  be.  His  features 
were  comparatively  regular,  his  mustache  a light  brown, 
his  eyes  hazel.  The  fact  that  he  came  from  that  myste- 
rious metropolis,  the  heart  of  which  is  Wall  Street,  not 
only  excused  but  legitimized  the  pink  shirt  and  the 
neatly  knotted  green  tie,  the  pepper-and-salt  check  suit 
that  was  loose  and  at  the  same  time  well-fitting,  and  the 
jewelled  ring  on  his  plump  little  finger.  On  the  whole, 
Mr.  Spence  was  not  only  prepossessing,  but  he  contrived 
to  give  Honora,  as  she  shook  his  hand,  the  impression 
of  being  brought  a step  nearer  to  the  national  source  of 
power.  Unlike  the  Vicomte,  he  did  not  appear  to  have 
been  instantly  and  mortally  wounded  upon  her  arrival  on 
the  scene,  but  his  greeting  was  flattering,  and  he  remained 
by  her  side  instead  of  returning  to  that  of  Mrs.  Robert. 

“ When  did  you  come  up  ? ” he  asked. 

“ Only  yesterday,”  answered  Honora. 

u New  York,”  said  Mr.  Spence,  producing  a gold 
cigarette  case  on  which  his  monogram  was  largely  and 
somewhat  elaborately  engraved,  “New  York  is  played 
out  this  time  of  year — isn’t  it  ? I dropped  in  at  Sherry’s 
last  night  for  dinner,  and  there  weren’t  thirty  people 
there.” 

Honora  had  heard  of  Sherry’s  as  a restaurant  where  one 
dined  fabulously,  and  she  tried  to  imagine  the  cosmopol- 
itan and  blissful  existence  which  permitted  “dropping 
in  at”  such  a place.  Moreover,  Mr.  Spence  was  plainly 
under  the  impression  that  she  too  “ came  up  ” from  New 
York,  and  it  was  impossible  not  to  be  a little  pleased. 


A CHAPTER  OF  CONQUESTS 


99 


44  It  must  be  a relief  to  get  into  the  country,”  she  ven- 
tured. 

Mr.  Spence  glanced  around  him  expressively,  and  then 
looked  at  her  with  a slight  smile.  The  action  and  the 
smile — to  which  she  could  not  refrain  from  responding — 
seemed  to  establish  a tacit  understanding  between  them. 
It  was  natural  that  he  should  look  upon  Silverdale  as  a 
slow  place,  and  there  was  something  delicious  in  his  tak- 
ing for  granted  that  she  shared  this  opinion.  She  won- 
dered a little  wickedly  what  he  would  say  when  he  knew 
the  truth  about  her,  and  this  was  the  birth  of  a resolution 
that  his  interest  should  not  flag. 

44  Oh,  I can  stand  the  country  when  it  is  properly  in- 
habited,” he  said,  and  their  eyes  met  in  laughter. 

44  How  many  inhabitants  do  you  require  ? ” she  asked. 

44  Well,”  he  said  brazenly,  44the  right  kind  of  inhabitant 
is  worth  a thousand  of  the  wrong  kind.  It  is  a good  rule 
in  business,  when  you  come  across  a gilt-edged  security, 
to  make  a specialty  of  it.” 

Honora  found  the  compliment  somewhat  singular.  But 
she  was  prepared  to  forgive  New  York  a few  sins  in  the 
matter  of  commercial  slang  : New  York,  which  evidently 
dressed  as  it  liked,  and  talked  as  it  liked.  But  not  know- 
ing any  more  of  a gilt-edged  security  than  that  it  was 
something  to  Mr.  Spence’s  taste,  a retort  was  out  of  the 
question.  Then,  as  though  she  were  doomed  that  day  to 
complicity,  her  eyes  chanced  to  encounter  an  appealing 
glance  from  the  Vicomte,  who  was  searching  with  the 
courage  of  despair  for  an  English  word,  which  his  hostess 
awaited  in  stoical  silence.  He  was  trying  to  give  his  im- 
pressions of  Silverdale,  in  comparison  to  country  places 
abroad,  while  Mrs.  Robert  regarded  him  enigmatically, 
and  Susan  sympathetically.  Honora  had  an  almost  irre- 
sistible desire  to  laugh. 

44  Ah,  Madame,”  he  cried,  still  looking  at  Honora,  44  will 
you  have  the  kindness  to  permit  me  to  walk  about  ever 
so  little  ? ” 

44  Certainly,  Vicomte,  and  I will  go  with  you.  Get  my 
parasol,  Susan.  Perhaps  you  would  like  to  come,  too, 


100 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


Howard,”  she  added  to  Mr.  Spence  ; “ it  has  been  so  long 
since  you  were  here,  and  we  have  made  many  changes.” 

“ And  you,  Mademoiselle,”  said  the  Vicomte  to  Honora, 
“you  will  come  — yes?  You  are  interested  in  land- 
scape ? ” 

“ I love  the  country,”  said  Honora. 

“ It  is  a pleasure  to  have  a guest  who  is  so  appreciative,” 
said  Mrs.  Holt.  “ Miss  Leffingwell  was  up  at  seven  this 
morning,  and  in  the  garden  with  my  husband.” 

“ At  seven ! ” exclaimed  the  Yicomte  ; “ you  American 
young  ladies  are  wonderful.  For  example  — ”and  he 
was  about  to  approach  her  to  enlarge  on  this  congenial 
theme  when  Susan  arrived  with  the  parasol,  which  Mrs. 
Holt  put  in  his  hands. 

“We’ll begin,  I think,  with  the  view  from  the  summer 
house,”  she  said.  “ And  I will  show  you  how  our  famous 
American  landscape  architect,  Mr.  Olmstead,  has  treated 
the  slope.” 

There  was  something  humorous,  and  a little  pathetic 
in  the  contrasted  figures  of  the  Yicomte  and  their  hostess 
crossing  the  lawn  in  front  of  them.  Mr.  Spence  paused 
a moment  to  light  his  cigarette,  and  he  seemed  to  derive 
infinite  pleasure  from  this  juxtaposition. 

“ Got  left,  — didn’t  he  ? ” he  said. 

To  this  observation  there  was,  obviously,  no  answer. 

“ I’m  not  very  strong  on  foreigners,”  he  declared.  “ An 
American  is  good  enough  for  me.  And  there’s  something 
about  that  fellow  which  would  make  me  a little  slow  in 
trusting  him  with  a woman  I cared  for.” 

“ If  you  are  beginning  to  worry  over  Mrs.  Holt,”  said 
Honora,  “ we’d  better  walk  a little  faster.” 

Mr.  Spence’s  delight  at  this  sally  was  so  unrestrained 
as  to  cause  the  couple  ahead  to  turn.  The  Yicomte’s  ex- 
pression was  reproachful. 

“ Where’s  Susan  ? ” asked  Mrs.  Holt. 

“ I think  she  must  have  gone  in  the  house,”  Honora 
answered. 

“ You  two  seem  to  be  having  a very  good  time.” 

“ Oh,  we’re  hitting  it  off  fairly  well,”  said  Mr.  Spence, 


A CHAPTER  OF  CONQUESTS 


101 


no  doubt  for  the  benefit  of  the  Vicomte.  And  he  added 
in  a confidential  tone,  44  Aren’t  we  ? ” 

“Not  on  the  subject  of  the  Vicomte,”  she  replied 
promptly.  “I  like  him.  I like  French  people.” 

“ What  ! ” he  exclaimed,  halting  in  his  steps,  “ you 
don’t  take  that  man  seriously  ? ” 

“ I haven’t  known  him  long  enough  to  take  him  seri- 
ously,” said  Honora. 

44  There’s  a blindness  about  women,”  he  declared, 44  that’s 
incomprehensible.  They’ll  invest  in  almost  any  old  thing 
if  the  certificates  are  beautifully  engraved.  If  you  were 
a man,  you  wouldn’t  trust  that  Frenchman  to  give  you 
change  for  five  dollars.” 

“French  people,”  proclaimed  Honora,  “have  a light 
touch  of  which  we  Americans  are  incapable.  We  do  not 
know  how  to  relax.” 

44  A light  touch  ! ” cried  Mr.  Spence,  delightedly,  44  that 
about  describes  the  Vicomte.” 

44  I’m  sure  you  do  him  an  injustice,”  said  Honora. 

44  We’ll  see,”  said  Mr,  Spence.  44  Mrs.  Holt  is  always 
picking  up  queer  people  like  that.  She’s  noted  for  it.” 
He  turned  to  her.  44  How  did  you  happen  to  come 
here  ? ” 

44 1 came  with  Susan,”  she  replied,  amusedly,  44  from 
boarding-school  at  Sutcliffe.” 

44  From  boarding-school ! ” 

She  rather  enjoyed  his  surprise. 

44  You  don’t  mean  to  say  you  are  Susan’s  age  ? ” 

44  How  old  did  you  think  I was  ? ” she  asked. 

44  Older  than  Susan,”  he  said  surveying  her. 

44 No,  I’m  a mere  child,  I’m  nineteen.” 

44  But  I thought  — ” he  began,  and  paused  and  lighted 
another  cigarette. 

Her  eyes  lighted  mischievously. 

44  You  thought  that  I had  been  out  several  years,  and 
that  I’d  seen  a good  deal  of  the  world,  and  that  I lived 
in  New  York,  and  that  it  was  strange  you  didn’t  know 
me.  But  New  York  is  such  an  enormous  place  I suppose 
one  can’t  know  everybody  there.” 


102 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


“ And  — where  do  you  come  from,  if  I may  ask  ? ” he 
said. 

“St.  Louis.  I was  brought  to  this  country  before  I 
was  two  years  old,  from  France.  Mrs.  Holt  brought  me. 
And  I have  never  been  out  of  St.  Louis  since,  except  to 
go  to  Sutcliffe.  There  you  have  my  history.  Mrs.  Holt 
would  probably  have  told  it  to  you,  if  I hadn’t.” 

“ And  Mrs.  Holt  brought  you  to  this  country  ? ” 

Honora  explained,  not  without  a certain  enjoyment. 

“ And  how  do  you  happen  to  be  here  ? ” she  demanded. 
“ Are  you  a member  of  — of  the  menagerie  ? ” 

He  had  the  habit  of  throwing  back  his  head  when  he 
laughed.  This,  of  course,  was  a thing  to  laugh  over,  and 
now  he  deemed  it  audacity.  Five  minutes  before  he 
might  have  given  it  another  name.  There  is  no  use 
in  saying  that  the  recital  of  Honora’s  biography  had 
not  made  a difference  with  Mr.  Howard  Spence,  and  that 
he  was  not  a little  mortified  at  his  mistake.  What  he 
had  supposed  her  to  be  must  remain  a matter  of  conjec- 
ture. He  was,  however,  by  no  means  aware  how  thor- 
oughly this  unknown  and  inexperienced  young  woman 
had  read  his  thoughts  in  her  regard.  And,  if  the  truth 
be  told,  he  was  on  the  whole  relieved  that  she  was  no- 
body. He  was  just  an  ordinary  man,  provided  with  no 
sixth  sense  or  premonitory  small  voice  to  warn  him  that 
masculine  creatures  are  often  in  real  danger  at  the 
moment  when  they  feel  most  secure. 

It  is  certain  that  his  manner  changed,  and  during  the 
rest  of  the  walk  she  listened  demurely  when  he  talked 
about  Wall  Street,  with  casual  references  to  the  powers 
that  be.  It  was  evident  that  Mr.  Howard  Spence  was 
one  who  had  his  fingers  on  the  pulse  of  affairs.  Ambition 
leaped  in  him. 

They  reached  the  house  in  advance  of  Mrs.  Holt  and 
the  Vicomte,  and  Honora  went  to  her  room. 

At  dinner,  save  for  a little  matter  of  a casual  remark 
when  Mr.  Holt  had  assumed  the  curved  attitude  in  which 
he  asked  grace,  Mr.  Spence  had  a veritable  triumph.  Self- 
confidence  was  a quality  which  Honora  admired.  He  was 


A CHAPTER  OF  CONQUESTS 


103 


undaunted  by  Mrs.  Holt,  and  advised  Mrs.  Robert,  if  she 
had  any  pin-money,  to  buy  New  York  Central;  and  he 
predicted  an  era  of  prosperity  which  would  be  unexampled 
in  the  annals  of  the  country.  Among  other  powers,  he 
quoted  the  father  of  Honora’s  schoolmate,  Mr.  James 
Wing,  as  authority  for  this  prophecy.  He  sat  next  to 
Susan,  who  maintained  her  usual  maidenly  silence,  but 
Honora,  from  time  to  time,  and  as  though  by  accident, 
caught  his  eye.  Even  Mr.  Holt,  when  not  munching  his 
dried  bread,  was  tempted  to  make  some  inquiries  about 
the  market. 

“ So  far  as  I am  concerned,”  Mrs.  Holt  announced  sud- 
denly, “ nothing  can  convince  me  that  it  is  not  gambling.” 

“ My  dear  Elvira  ! ” protested  Mr.  Holt. 

“ I can’t  help  it,”  said  that  lady,  stoutly  ; “ I’m  old- 
fashioned,  I suppose.  But  it  seems  to  me  like  legalized 
gambling.” 

Mr.  Spence  took  this  somewhat  severe  arraignment  of 
his  career  in  admirable  good  nature.  And  if  there  be 
such  a thing  as  an  implied  wink,  Honora  received  one  as 
he  proceeded  to  explain  what  he  was  pleased  to  call  the 
bona-fide  nature  of  the  transactions  of  Dallam  and  Spence. 
A discussion  ensued  in  which,  to  her  surprise,  even  the 
ordinarily  taciturn  Joshua  took  a part,  and  maintained 
that  the  buying  and  selling  of  blooded  stock  was  equally 
gambling.  To  this  his  father  laughingly  agreed.  The 
Vicomte,  who  sat  on  Mrs.  Holt’s  right,  and  who  apparently 
was  determined  not  to  suffer  a total  eclipse  without  a 
struggle,  gallantly  and  unexpectedly  came  to  his  hostess’ 
rescue,  though  she  treated  him  as  a doubtful  ally.  This 
was  because  he  declared  with  engaging  frankness  that  in 
France  the  young  men  of  his  monde  had  a jeunesse:  he, 
who  spoke  to  them,  had  gambled;  everybody  gambled  in 
France,  where  it  was  regarded  as  an  innocent  amusement. 
He  had  friends  on  the  Bourse,  and  he  could  see  no  dif- 
ference in  principle  between  betting  on  the  red  at  Monte 
Carlo  and  the  rise  and  fall  of  the  shares  of  la  Compagnie 
des  Metaux,  for  example.  After  completing  his  argument, 
he  glanced  triumphantly  about  the  table,  until  his  restless 


104 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


black  eyes  encountered  Honora’s,  seemingly  seeking  a 
verdict.  She  smiled  impartially. 

The  subject  of  finance  lasted  through  the  dinner,  and 
the  Vicomte  proclaimed  himself  amazed  with  the  evidences 
of  wealth  which  confronted  him  on  every  side  in  this 
marvellous  country.  And  once,  when  he  was  at  a loss 
for  a word,  Honora  astonished  and  enchanted  him  by  sup- 
plying  it. 

“ Ah,  Mademoiselle,”  he  exclaimed,  “ I was  sure  when 
I first  beheld  you  that  you  spoke  my  language  ! And 
with  such  an  accent ! ” 

“ I have  studied  it  all  my  life,  Vicomte,”  she  said, 
modestly,  “ and  I had  the  honour  to  be  born  in  your  coun- 
try. I have  always  wished  to  see  it  again.” 

Monsieur  de  Toqueville  ventured  the  fervent  hope  that 
her  wish  might  soon  be  gratified,  but  not  before  he  re- 
turned to  France.  He  expressed  himself  in  French,  and 
in  a few  moments  she  found  herself  deep  in  a discussion 
with  him  in  that  tongue.  While  she  talked,  her  veins 
seemed  filled  with  fire  ; and  she  was  dimly  and  automati- 
cally aware  of  the  disturbance  about  her,  as  though  she 
were  creating  a magnetic  storm  that  interfered  with  all 
other  communication.  Mr.  Holt’s  nightly  bezique,  which 
he  played  with  Susan,  did  not  seem  to  be  going  as  well  as 
usual,  and  elsewhere  conversation  was  a palpable  pretence. 
Mr.  Spence,  who  was  attempting  to  entertain  the  two 
daughters-in-law,  was  clearly  distrait  — if  his  glances 
meant  anything.  Robert  and  Joshua  had  not  appeared, 
and  Mrs.  Holt,  at  the  far  end  of  the  room  under  the  lamp, 
regarded  Honora  from  time  to  time  over  the  edge  of  the 
evening  newspaper. 

In  his  capacity  as  a student  of  American  manners,  an 
unsuspected  if  scattered  knowledge  on  Honora’s  part  of 
that  portion  of  French  literature  included  between  The- 
ophile  Gautier  and  Gyp  at  once  dumfounded  and  delighted 
the  Vicomte  de  Toqueville.  And  he  was  curious  to  know 
whether,  amongst  American  young  ladies,  Miss  Leffingwell 
was  the  exception  or  the  rule.  Those  eyes  of  his,  which 
had  paid  to  his  hostess  a tender  respect,  snapped  when 


A CHAPTER  OF  CONQUESTS 


105 


they  spoke  to  our  heroine,  and  presently  he  boldly  aban- 
doned literature  to  declare  that  the  fates  alone  had  sent 
her  to  Silverdale  at  the  time  of  his  visit. 

It  was  at  this  interesting  juncture  that  Mrs.  Holt  rattled 
her  newspaper  a little  louder  than  usual,  arose  majestically, 
and  addressed  Mrs.  Joshua. 

44  Annie,  perhaps  you  will  play  for  us,”  she  said,  as  she 
crossed  the  room,  and  added  to  Honora  : 44  I had  no  idea 
you  spoke  French  so  well,  my  dear.  What  have  you  and 
Monsieur  de  Toqueville  been  talking  about  ? ” 

It  was  the  Vicomte  who,  springing  to  his  feet,  replied 
nimbly  : — 

44  Mademoiselle  has  been  teaching  me  much  of  the  cus- 
toms of  your  country.” 

44  And  what,”  inquired  Mrs.  Holt,  44  have  you  been 
teaching  Mademoiselle  ? ” 

The  Vicomte  laughed  and  shrugged  his  shoulders  ex- 
pressively. 

44  Ah,  Madame,  I wish  I were  qualified  to  be  her  teacher. 
The  education  of  American  young  ladies  is  truly  extraor- 
dinary.” 

44 1 was  about  to  tell  Monsieur  de  Toqueville,”  put  in 
Honora,  wickedly, 44  that  he  must  see  your  Institution  as 
soon  as  possible,  and  the  work  your  girls  are  doing.” 

44  Madame,”  said  the  Vicomte,  after  a scarcely  percep- 
tible pause,  44 1 await  my  opportunity  and  your  kindness.” 

44 1 will  take  you  to-morrow,”  said  Mrs.  Holt. 

At  this  instant  a sound  closely  resembling  a sneeze 
caused  them  to  turn.  Mr.  Spence,  with  his  handkerchief 
to  his  mouth,  had  his  back  turned  to  them,  and  was  studi- 
ously regarding  the  bookcases. 

After  Honora  had  gone  upstairs  for  the  night  she  opened 
her  door  in  response  to  a knock,  to  find  Mrs.  Holt  on  the 
threshold. 

44  My  dear,”  said  that  lady,  44 1 feel  that  I must  say  a 
word  to  you.  I suppose  you  realize  that  you  are  attrac- 
tive to  men.” 

44  Oh,  Mrs.  Holt.” 

44  You’re  no  fool,  my  dear,  and  it  goes  without  saying 


106 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


that  you  do  realize  it  — in  the  most  innocent  way,  of 
course.  But  you  have  had  no  experience  in  life.  Mind 
you,  I don’t  say  that  the  Vicomte  de  Toque  ville  isn’t 
very  much  of  a gentleman,  but  the  French  ideas  about 
the  relations  of  young  men  and  young  women  are  quite 
different  and,  I regret  to  say,  less  innocent  than  ours.  I 
have  no  reason  to  believe  that  the  Vicomte  has  come  to 
this  country  to  — to  mend  his  fortunes.  I know  nothing 
about  his  property.  But  my  sense  of  responsibility 
towards  you  lias  led  me  to  tell  him  that  you  have  no 
dot,  for  you  somehow  manage  to  give  the  impression  of  a 
young  woman  of  fortune.  Not  purposely,  my  dear  — I 
did  not  mean  that.”  Mrs.  Holt  tapped  gently  Honora’s 
flaming  cheek.  “ I merely  felt  it  my  duty  to  drop  you  a 
word  of  warning  against  Monsieur  de  Toqueville  — be- 
cause he  is  a Frenchman.” 

“ But,  Mrs.  Holt,  I had  no  idea  of  — of  falling  in  love 
with  him,”  protested  Honora,  as  soon  as  she  could  get 
her  breath.  “He  seemed  so  kind  — and  so  interested  in 
everything.” 

“ I dare  say,”  said  Mrs.  Holt,  dryly.  “ And  I have  al- 
ways been  led  to  believe  that  that  is  the  most  dangerous 
sort.  I am  sure,  Honora,  after  what  I have  said,  you 
will  give  him  no  encouragement.” 

“ Oh,  Mrs.  Holt,”  cried  Honora  again,  “ I shouldn’t 
think  of  such  a thing  ! ” 

“ I am  sure  of  it,  Honora,  now  that  you  are  forewarned. 
And  your  suggestion  to  take  him  to  the  Institution  was 
not  a bad  one.  I meant  to  do  so  anyway,  and  I think  it 
will  be  good  for  him.  Good  night,  my  dear.” 

After  the  good  lady  had  gone,  Honora  stood  for  some 
moments  motionless.  Then  she  turned  out  the  light. 


CHAPTER  IX 


IN  WHICH  THE  YICOMTE  CONTINUES  HIS  STUDIES 

Mu.  Robert  PIolt,  Honora  learned  at  breakfast,  had 
two  hobbies.  She  had  never  heard  of  what  is  called 
Forestry,  and  had  always  believed  the  wood  of  her 
country  to  be  inexhaustible.  It  had  never  occurred  to 
her  to  think  of  a wild  forest  as  an  example  of  nature’s  ex- 
travagance, and  so  flattering  was  her  attention  while 
Robert  explained  the  primary  principles  of  caring  for 
trees  that  he  actually  offered  to  show  her  one  of  the  tracts 
on  the  estate  which  he  was  treating.  He  could  not,  he  re- 
gretted to  say,  take  her  that  morning. 

His  other  hobby  was  golf.  He  was  president  of  the 
Sutton  Golf  Club,  and  had  arranged  to  play  a match  with 
Mr.  Spence.  This  gentleman,  it  appeared,  was  likewise 
an  enthusiast,  and  had  brought  to  Silverdale  a leather  bag 
filled  with  sticks. 

“Won’t  you  come,  too,  Miss  Leffingwell  ? ” he  said,  as 
he  took  a second  cup  of  coffee. 

Somewhat  to  the  astonishment  of  the  Holt  family, 
Robert  seconded  the  invitation. 

“I’ll  bet,  Robert,”  said  Mr.  Spence,  gallantly,  “that 
Miss  Leffingwell  can  put  it  over  both  of  us.” 

“ Indeed,  I can’t  play  at  all,”  exclaimed  Honora  in  con- 
fusion. “ And  I shouldn’t  think  of  spoiling  your  match. 
And  besides,  I am  going  to  drive  with  Susan.” 

“We  can  go  another  day,  Honora,”  said  Susan. 

But  Honora  would  not  hear  of  it. 

“ Come  over  with  me  this  afternoon,  then,”  suggested 
Mr.  Spence,  “and  I’ll  give  you  a lesson.” 

She  thanked  him  gratefully. 

107 


108 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


44  Bat  it  won’t  be  much  fun  for  you,  I’m  afraid,”  she 
added,  as  they  left  the  dining  room. 

44  Don’t  worry  about  me,”  he  answered  cheerfully.  He 
was  dressed  in  a checked  golf  costume,  and  wore  a pink 
shirt  of  a new  pattern.  And  he  stood  in  front  of  her  in 
the  hall,  glowing  from  his  night’s  sleep,  evidently  in  a 
high  state  of  amusement. 

44  What’s  the  matter  ? ” she  demanded. 

44  You  did  for  the  Yicomte  all  right,”  he  said.  44  I’d 
give  a good  deal  to  see  him  going  through  the  Insti- 
tution.” 

44  It  wouldn’t  have  hurt  you,  either,”  she  retorted,  and 
started  up  the  stairs.  Once  she  glanced  back  and  saw  him 
looking  after  her. 

At  the  far  end  of  the  second  story  hall  she  perceived 
the  Vicomte,  who  had  not  appeared  at  breakfast,  coming 
out  of  his  room.  She  paused  with  her  hand  on  the  walnut 
post  and  laughed  a little,  so  ludicrous  was  his  expression 
as  he  approached  her. 

44 Ah,  Mademoiselle,  que  vous  etes  mechante ! ” he  ex- 
claimed. 44  But  I forgive  you,  if  you  will  not  go  off  with 
that  stock -broker.  It  must  be  that  I see  the  Home  some- 
time, and  if  I go  now  it  is  over.  I forgive  you.  It  is 
in  the  Bible  that  we  must  forgive  our  neighbour  — how 
many  times  ? ” 

44  Seventy  times  seven,”  said  Honora. 

44  But  I make  a condition,”  said  the  Vicomte,  44  that  my 
neighbour  shall  be  a woman,  and  young  and  beautiful. 
Then  I care  not  how  many  times.  Mademoiselle,  if  you 
would  but  have  your  portrait  painted  as  you  are,  with  your 
hand  on  the  post,  by  Sargent  or  Carolus  Duran,  there 
would  be  some  noise  in  the  Salon.” 

44  Is  that  you,  Vicomte  ? ” came  a voice  from  the  foot  of 
the  stairs  — Mrs.  Holt’s  voice. 

44 1 come  this  instant,  Madame,”  he  replied,  looking  over 
the  banisters,  and  added:  44  Malheureux  que  je  suis  ! Per- 
haps, when  I return,  you  will  show  me  a little  of  the 
garden.  ” 

The  duty  of  exhibiting  to  guests  the  sights  of  Silverdale 


THE  VICOMTE  CONTINUES  HIS  STUDIES  109 


and  the  neighbourhood  had  so  often  devolved  upon  Susan, 
who  was  methodical,  that  she  had  made  out  a route,  or 
itinerary,  for  this  purpose.  There  were  some  notes  to 
leave  and  a sick  woman  and  a child  to  see,  which  caused 
her  to  vary  it  a little  that  morning;  and  Honora,  who  sat 
in  the  sunlight  and  held  the  horse,  wondered  how  it  would 
feel  to  play  the  lady  bountiful. 

“ I am  so  glad  to  have  you  all  to  myself  for  a little 
while,  Honora,”  Susan  said  to  her.  “You  are  so  popular 
that  I begin  to  fear  that  I shall  have  to  be  unselfish,  and 
share  you.” 

“ Oh,  Susan,”  she  said,  “ every  one  has  been  so  kind. 
And  I can’t  tell  you  how  much  I am  enjoying  this  ex- 
perience, which  I feel  I owe  to  you.” 

“ I am  so  happy,  dear,  that  it  is  giving  you  pleasure,” 
said  Susan. 

“ And  don’t  think,”  exclaimed  Honora,  “ that  you  won’t 
see  lots  of  me,  for  you  will.” 

Her  heart  warmed  to  Susan,  yet  she  could  not  but  feel 
a secret  pity  for  her,  as  one  unable  to  make  the  most  of 
her  opportunities  in  the  wonderful  neighbourhood  in 
which  she  lived.  As  they  drove  through  the  roads  and 
in  and  out  of  the  well-kept  places,  everybody  they  met 
had  a bow  and  a smile  for  her  friend  — a greeting  such 
as  people  give  to  those  for  whom  they  have  only  good-will. 
Young  men  and  girls  waved  their  racquets  at  her  from 
the  tennis-courts;  and  Honora  envied  them  and  wished 
that  she,  too,  were  a part  of  the  gay  life  she  saw,  and  were 
playing  instead  of  being  driven  decorously  about.  She 
admired  the  trim,  new  houses  in  which  they  lived,  set 
upon  the  slopes  of  the  hills.  Pleasure  houses,  they 
seemed  to  her,  built  expressly  for  joys  which  had  been 
denied  her. 

“ Do  you  see  much  of  — of  these  people,  Susan  ? ” she 
asked. 

“Not  so  much  as  I’d  like,”  replied  Susan,  seriously. 
“I  never  seem  to  get  time.  We  nearly  always  have 
guests  at  Silverdale,  and  then  there  are  so  many  things 
one  has  to  attend  to.  Perhaps  you  have  noticed,”  she 


110 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


added,  smiling  a little,  “ that  we  are  very  serious  and  old- 
fashioned.” 

“ Oh,  no  indeed,”  protested  Honora.  “ It  is  such  a won- 
derful experience  for  me  to  be  here!” 

“Well,”  said  Susan,  “we’re  having  some  young  people 
to  dinner  to-night,  and  others  next  week  — that’s  why 
I’m  leaving  these  notes.  And  then  we  shall  be  a little 
livelier.” 

“ Really,  Susan,  you  mustn’t  think  that  I’m  not  having 
a good  time.  It  is  exciting  to  be  in  the  same  house  with 
a real  French  Vicomte,  and  I like  Mr.  Spence  tremen- 
dously.” 

Her  friend  was  silent. 

“ Don’t  you  ? ” demanded  Honora. 

To  her  surprise,  the  usually  tolerant  Susan  did  not 
wholly  approve  of  Mr.  Spence. 

“ He  is  a guest,  and  I ought  not  to  criticise  him,”  she 
answered.  “But  since  you  ask  me,  Honora,  I have  to  be 
honest.  It  seems  to  me  that  his  ambitions  are  a little 
sordid  — that  he  is  too  intent  upon  growing  rich.” 

“But  I thought  all  New  Yorkers  were  that  way,”  ex- 
claimed Honora,  and  added  hastily,  “ except  a few,  like 
your  family,  Susan.” 

Susan  laughed. 

“You  should  marry  a diplomat,  my  dear,”  she  said. 
“After  all,  perhaps  I am  a little  harsh.  But  there  is  a 
spirit  of  selfishness  and  — and  of  vulgarity  in  modern, 
fashionable  New  York  which  appears  to  be  catching,  like 
a disease.  The  worship  of  financial  success  seems  to  be  in 
every  one’s  blood.” 

“ It  is  power,”  said  Honora. 

Susan  glanced  at  her,  but  Honora  did  not  remark  the 
expression  on  her  friend’s  face,  so  intent  was  she  on  the 
reflections  which  Susan’s  words  had  aroused.  They  had 
reached  the  far  end  of  the  Silverdale  domain,  and  were 
driving  along  the  shore  of  the  lake  that  lay  like  a sap- 
phire set  amongst  the  green  hills.  It  was  here  that  the 
new  house  of  the  Robert  Holts  was  building.  Presently 
they  came  to  Joshua’s  dairy  farm,  and  Joshua  himself  was 


THE  VICOMTE  CONTINUES  HIS  STUDIES  111 


standing  in  the  doorway  of  one  of  his  immaculate  barns. 
Honora  put  her  hand  on  Susan’s  arm. 

“Can’t  we  see  the  cows?”  she  asked. 

Susan  looked  surprised. 

“I  didn’t  know  you  were  interested  in  cows,  Honora.'’ 

“I  am  interested  in  everything,”  said  Honora  “And 
I think  your  brother  is  so  attractive.” 

It  was  at  this  moment  that  Joshua,  with  his  hands  in 
his  pockets,  demanded  what  his  sister  was  doing  there. 

“Miss  Leffingwell  wants  to  look  at  the  cattle,  Josh,” 
called  Susan. 

“ Won’t  you  show  them  to  me,  Mr.  Holt,”  begged 
Honora.  “ I’d  like  so  much  to  see  some  really  good 
cattle,  and  to  know  a little  more  about  them.” 

Joshua  appeared  incredulous.  But,  being  of  the  male 
sex,  he  did  not  hide  the  fact  that  he  was  pleased. 

“ It  seems  strange  to  have  somebody  really  want  to  see 
them,”  he  said.  “ I tried  to  get  Spence  to  come  back  this 
way,  but  the  idea  didn’t  seem  to  appeal  to  him.  Here  are 
some  of  the  records.” 

“ Records  ? ” repeated  Honora,  looking  at  a mass  of  type- 
written figures  on  the  wall.  “Do  you  mean  to  say  you 
keep  such  an  exact  account  of  all  the  milk  you  get  ? ” 

J oshua  laughed,  and  explained.  She  walked  by  his  side 
over  the  concrete  paving  to  the  first  of  the  varnished  stalls. 

“ That,”  he  said,  and  a certain  pride  had  come  into  his 
voice,  “ is  Lady  Guinevere,  and  those  ribbons  are  the  prizes 
she  has  taken  on  both  sides  of  the  water.” 

“Isn’t  she  a dear!”  exclaimed  Honora;  “ why,  she’s 
actually  beautiful.  I didn’t  know  cows  could  be  so  beau- 
tiful.” 

“ She  isn’t  bad,”  admitted  Joshua.  “ Of  course  the  good 
points  in  a cow  aren’t  necessarily  features  of  beauty  — 
for  instance,  these  bones  here,”  he  added,  pointing  to  the 
hips. 

“ But  they  seem  to  add,  somehow,  to  the  thoroughbred 
appearance,”  Honora  declared. 

“ That’s  absolutely  true,”  replied  Joshua,  — whereupon 
he  began  to  talk.  And  Honora,  still  asking  questions, 


112 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


followed  him  from  stall  to  stall.  “ There  are  some  more 
in  the  pasture,”  he  said,  when  they  had  reached  the  end 
of  the  second  building. 

“ Oh,  couldn’t  I see  them  ? ” she  asked. 

“Surely,”  replied  Joshua,  with  more  of  alacrity  than 
one  would  have  believed  him  capable.  “ I’ll  tell  Susan  to 
drive  on,  and  you  and  I will  walk  home  across  the  fields, 
if  you  like.” 

“ I should  love  to,”  said  Honora. 

It  was  not  without  astonishment  that  the  rest  of  the 
Holt  family  beheld  them  returning  together  as  the  gongs 
were  sounding  for  luncheon.  Mrs.  Holt,  upon  perceiving 
them,  began  at  once  to  shake  her  head  and  laugh. 

“ My  dear,  it  can’t  be  that  you  have  captivated  Joshua!  ” 
she  exclaimed,  in  a tone  that  implied  the  carrying  of  a 
stronghold  hitherto  thought  impregnable. 

Honora  blushed,  whether  from  victory  or  embarrassment, 
or  both,  it  is  impossible  to  say. 

“ I’m  afraid  it’s  just  the  other  way,  Mrs.  Holt,”  she  re- 
plied; “ Mr.  Holt  has  captivated  me.” 

“We’ll  call  it  mutual,  Miss  Leffingwell,”  declared 
Joshua,  which  was  for  him  the  height  of  gallantry. 

“ I only  hope  he  hasn’t  bored  you,”  said  the  good- 
natured  Mrs.  Joshua. 

“ Oh,  dear,  no,”  exclaimed  Honora.  “ I don’t  see  how 
any  one  could  be  bored  looking  at  such  magnificent  ani- 
mals as  that  Hardicanute.” 

It  was  at  this  moment  that  her  eyes  were  drawn,  by  a 
seemingly  resistless  attraction,  to  Mrs.  Robert’s  face. 
Her  comment  upon  this  latest  conquest,  though  unex- 
pressed, was  disquieting.  And  in  spite  of  herself,  Honora 
blushed  again. 

At  luncheon,  in  the  midst  of  a general  conversation, 
Mr.  Spence  made  a remark  sotto  voce  which  should,  in  the 
ordinary  course  of  events,  have  remained  a secret. 

“ Susan,”  lie  said,  “your  friend  Miss  Leffingwell  is  a fas- 
cinator. She’s  got  Robert’s  scalp,  too,  and  he  thought  it 
a pretty  good  joke  because  I offered  to  teach  her  to  play 
golf  this  afternoon.” 


THE  VICOMTE  CONTINUES  HIS  STUDIES  113 


It  appeared  that  Susan’s  eyes  could  flash  indignantly. 
Perhaps  she  resented  Mr.  Spence’s  calling  her  by  her  first 
name. 

“ Honora  Leffingwell  is  the  most  natural  and  unspoiled 
person  I know,”  she  said. 

There  is,  undoubtedly,  a keen  pleasure  and  an  ample 
reward  in  teaching  a pupil  as  apt  and  as  eager  to  learn  as 
Honora.  And  Mr.  Spence,  if  he  attempted  at  all  to  ac- 
count for  the  swiftness  with  which  the  hours  of  that  long 
afternoon  slipped  away,  may  have  attributed  their  flight 
to  the  discovery  in  himself  of  hitherto  latent  talent  for  in- 
struction. At  the  little  Casino,  he  had  bought,  from  the 
professional  in  charge  of  the  course,  a lady’s  driver ; and 
she  practised  with  exemplary  patience  the  art  of  carrying 
one’s  hands  through  and  of  using  the  wrists  in  the  stroke. 

“Not  quite,  Miss  Leffingwell,”  he  would  say,  “but  so." 

Honora  would  try  again. 

“ That’s  unusually  good  for  a beginner,  but  you  are  in- 
clined to  chop  it  off  a little  still.  Let  it  swing  all  the 
way  round.” 

“ Oh,  dear,  how  you  must  hate  me  !” 

“ Hate  you  ? ” said  Mr.  Spence,  searching  in  vain  for 
words  with  which  to  obliterate  such  a false  impression. 
“ Anything  but  that ! ” 

“ Isn’t  it  a wonderful  spot  ? ” she  exclaimed,  gazing  off 
down  the  swale,  emerald  green  in  the  afternoon  light  be- 
tween its  forest  walls.  In  the  distance,  Silver  Brook  was 
gleaming  amidst  the  meadows.  They  sat  down  on  one  of 
the  benches  and  watched  the  groups  of  players  pass.  Mr. 
Spence  produced  his  cigarette  case,  and  presented  it  to 
her  playfully. 

“ A little  quiet  whiff,”  he  suggested.  “ There’s  not 
much  chance  over  at  the  convent,”  and  she  gathered  that 
it  was  thus  he  was  pleased  to  designate  Silver  dale. 

In  one  instant  she  was  doubtful  whether  or  not  to  be 
angry,  and  in  the  next  grew  ashamed  of  the  provincialism 
which  had  caused  her  to  suspect  an  insult.  She  took  a 
cigarette,  and  he  produced  a gold  match  case,  lighted  a 
match,  and  held  it  up  for  her.  Honora  blew  it  out. 


114 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


“ You  didn’t  think  seriously  that  I smoked  ? ” she  asked, 
glancing  at  him. 

“ Why  not  ? ” he  asked;  “ any  number  of  girls  do.” 

She  tore  away  some  of  the  rice  paper  and  lifted  the  to- 
bacco to  her  nose,  and  made  a little  grimace. 

“ Do  you  like  to  see  women  smoke?”  she  asked. 

Mr.  Spence  admitted  that  there  was  something  cosey 
about  the  custom,  when  it  was  well  done. 

“And  I imagine,”  he  added,  “that  you’d  do  it  well.” 

“ I’m  sure  I should  make  a frightful  mess  of  it,”  she 
protested  modestly. 

“ You  do  everything  well,”  he  said. 

“ Even  golf  ? ” she  inquired  mischievously. 

“ Even  golf,  for  a beginner  and  — and  a woman  ; you’ve 
got  the  swing  in  an  astonishingly  short  time.  In  fact, 
you’ve  been  something  of  an  eye-opener  to  me,”  he  de- 
clared. “ If  I had  been  betting,  I should  have  placed  the 
odds  about  twenty  to  one  against  your  coming  from  the 
West.” 

This  Eastern  complacency,  although  it  did  not  lower 
Mr.  Spence  in  her  estimation,  aroused  Honora’s  pride. 

“That  shows  how  little  New  Yorkers  know  of  the 
West,”  she  replied,  laughing.  “ Didn’t  you  suppose  there 
were  any  gentlewomen  there  ? ” 

“ Gentlewomen,”  repeated  Mr.  Spence,  as  though  puz- 
zled by  the  word,  “gentlewomen,  yes.  But  you  might 
have  been  born  anywhere.” 

Even  her  sense  of  loyalty  to  her  native  place  was  not 
strong  enough  to  override  this  compliment. 

“ I like  a girl  with  some  dash  and  go  to  her,”  he  pro- 
claimed, and  there  could  be  no  doubt  about  the  one  to 
whom  he  was  attributing  these  qualities.  “ Savoir  faire, 
as  the  French  call  it,  and  all  that.  I don’t  know  much 
about  that  language,  but  the  way  you  talk  it  makes  Mrs. 
Holt’s  French  and  Susan’s  sound  silly.  I watched  you 
last  night  when  you  were  stringing  the  Vicomte.” 

“ Oh,  did  you  ? ” said  Honora,  demurely. 

“ You  may  have  thought  I was  talking  to  Mrs.  Robert,” 
he  said. 


THE  VICOMTE  CONTINUES  HIS  STUDIES  115 


“I  wasn’t  thinking  anything  about  you,”  replied 
Honora,  indignantly.  44  And  besides,  I wasn’t  4 string- 
ing’ the  Vicomte.  In  the  West  we  don’t  use  anything 
like  so  much  slang  as  you  seem  to  use  in  New  York.” 

“ Oh,  come  now ! ” he  exclaimed,  laughingly,  and  ap- 
parently not  the  least  out  of  countenance,  “you  made 
him  think  he  was  the  only  pebble  on  the  beach.  I have 
no  idea  what  you  were  talking  about.” 

44  Literature,”  she  said.  44  Perhaps  that  was  the  reason 
why  you  couldn’t  understand  it.” 

44  He  may  be  interested  in  literature,”  replied  Mr. 
Spence,  44  but  it  wouldn’t  be  a bad  guess  to  say  that  he 
was  more  interested  in  stocks  and  bonds.” 

44  He  doesn’t  talk  about  them,  at  any  rate,”  said 
Honora. 

44  I’d  respect  him  more  if  he  did,”  he  announced.  44 1 
know  those  fellows  — they  make  love  to  every  woman 
they  meet.  I saw  him  eying  you  at  lunch.” 

Honora  laughed. 

44 1 imagine  the  Vicomte  could  make  love  charmingly,” 
she  said. 

Mr.  Spence  suddenly  became  very  solemn. 

44  Merely  as  a fellow-countryman,  Miss  Leffingwell  — ” 
he  began,  when  she  sprang  to  her  feet,  her  eyes  dancing, 
and  finished  the  sentence. 

44  You  would  advise  me  to  be  on  my  guard  against  him, 
because,  although  I look  twenty-five  and  experienced,  I am 
only  nineteen  and  inexperienced.  Thank  you.” 

He  paused  to  light  another  cigarette  before  he  followed 
her  across  the  turf.  But  she  had  the  incomprehensible 
feminine  satisfaction  of  knowing,  as  they  walked  home- 
ward, that  the  usual  serenity  of  his  disposition  was  slightly 
ruffled. 

A sudden  caprice  impelled  her,  in  the  privacy  of  her 
bedroom  that  evening,  to  draw  his  portrait  for  Peter 
Erwin.  The  complacency  of  New  York  men  was  most 
amusing,  she  wrote,  and  the  amount  of  slang  they  used 
would  have  been  deemed  vulgar  in  St.  Louis.  Neverthe- 
less, she  liked  people  to  be  sure  of  themselves,  and  there 


116 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


was  something  “insolent”  about  New  York  which  ap- 
pealed to  her.  Peter,  when  he  read  that  letter,  seemed  to 
see  Mr.  Howard  Spence  in  the  flesh;  or  arrayed,  rather, 
in  the  kind  of  cloth  alluringly  draped  in  the  show-windows 
of  fashionable  tailors.  For  Honora,  all  unconsciously, 
wrote  literature.  Literature  was  invented  before  phono- 
graphs, and  will  endure  after  them.  Peter  could  hear  Mr. 
Spence  talk,  for  a part  of  that  gentleman’s  conversation  — 
a characteristic  part  — was  faithfully  transcribed.  And 
Peter  detected  a strain  of  admiration  running  even  through 
the  ridicule. 

Peter  showed  that  letter  to  Aunt  Mary,  whom  it 
troubled,  and  to  Uncle  Tom,  who  laughed  over  it.  There 
was  also  a lifelike  portrait  of  the  Yicomte,  followed  by  the 
comment  that  he  was  charming,  but  very  French;  but 
the  meaning  of  this  last,  but  quite  obvious,  attribute  re- 
mained obscure.  He  was  possessed  of  one  of  the  oldest 
titles  and  one  of  the  oldest  chateaux  in  France.  (Al- 
though she  did  not  say  so,  Honora  had  this  on  no  less 
authority  than  that  of  the  Yicomte  himself.)  Mrs.  Holt  — 
with  her  Yictorian  brooch  and  ear-rings  and  her  watchful 
delft-blue  eyes  that  somehow  haunted  one  even  when  she 
was  out  of  sight,  with  her  ample  bosom  and  the  really 
kind  heart  it  contained  — was  likewise  depicted;  and  Mr. 
Holt,  with  his  dried  bread,  and  his  garden  which  Honora 
wished  Uncle  Tom  could  see,  and  his  prayers  that  lacked 
imagination.  Joshua  and  his  cows,  Robert  and  his  forest, 
Susan  and  her  charities,  the  Institution,  jolly  Mrs.  Joshua 
and  enigmatical  Mrs.  Robert-— all  were  there:  and 

even  a picture  of  the  dinner-party  that  evening,  when 
Honora  sat  next  to  a young  Mr.  Patterson  with  glasses 
and  a studious  manner,  who  knew  George  Hanbury  at 
Harvard.  The  other  guests  were  a florid  Miss  Chamber- 
lin, whose  person  loudly  proclaimed  possessions,  and  a thin 
Miss  Longman,  who  rented  one  of  the  Silverdale  cottages 
and  sketched. 

Honora  was  seeing  life.  She  sent  her  love  to  Peter, 
and  begged  him  to  write  to  her. 

The  next  morning  a mysterious  change  seemed  to  have 


THE  VICOMTE  CONTINUES  HIS  STUDIES  117 


passed  over  the  members  of  the  family  during  the  night. 
It  was  Sunday.  Honora,  when  she  left  her  room,  heard 
a swishing  on  the  stairs  — Mrs.  Joshua,  stiffly  arrayed  for 
the  day.  Even  Mrs.  Robert  swished,  but  Mrs.  Holt,  in  a 
bronze-coloured  silk,  swished  most  of  all  as  she  entered 
the  library  after  a brief  errand  to  the  housekeeper’s  room. 
Mr.  Holt  was  already  arranging  his  book-marks  in  the 
Bible,  while  Joshua  and  Robert,  in  black  cutaways  that 
seemed  to  have  the  benumbing  and  paralyzing  effect  of 
strait-jackets,  wandered  aimlessly  about  the  room,  as 
though  its  walls  were  the  limit  of  their  movements.  The 
children  had  a subdued  and  touch-me-not  air  that  reminded 
Honora  of  her  own  youth. 

It  was  not  until  prayers  were  over  and  the  solemn 
gathering  seated  at  the  breakfast  table  that  Mr.  Spence 
burst  upon  it  like  an  aurora.  His  flannel  suit  was  of  the 
lightest  of  grays  ; he  wore  white  tennis  shoes  and  a red 
tie,  and  it  was  plain,  as  he  cheerfully  bade  them  good 
morning,  that  he  was  wholly  unaware  of  the  enormity  of 
his  costume.  There  was  a choking,  breathless  moment 
before  Mrs.  Holt  broke  the  silence. 

“Surely,  Howard,”  she  said,  “you’re  not  going  to 
church  in  those  clothes.” 

“ I hadn’t  thought  of  going  to  church,”  replied  Mr. 
Spence,  helping  himself  to  cherries. 

“ What  do  you  intend  to  do  ? ” asked  his  hostess. 

“Read  the  stock  reports  for  the  week  as  soon  as  the 
newspapers  arrive.” 

“ There  is  no  such  thing  as  a Sunday  newspaper  in  my 
house,”  said  Mrs.  Holt. 

“No  Sunday  newspapers!”  he  exclaimed.  And  his 
eyes,  as  they  encountered  Honora’s,  — who  sought  to  avoid 
them,  — expressed  a genuine  dismay. 

“ I am  afraid,”  said  Mrs.  Holt,  “ that  I was  right  when 
I spoke  of  the  pernicious  effect  of  Wall  Street  upon  young 
men.  Your  mother  did  not  approve  of  Sunday  news- 
papers.” 

During  the  rest  of  the  meal,  although  he  made  a valiant 
attempt  to  hold  his  own,  Mr.  Spence  was,  so  to  speak, 


118 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


outlawed.  Robert  and  Joshua  must  have  had  a secret 
sympathy  for  him.  One  of  them  mentioned  the  Vi- 
comte. 

“ The  Vicomte  is  a foreigner,”  declared  Mrs.  Holt. 
“ I am  in  no  sense  responsible  for  him.” 

The  Vicomte  was  at  that  moment  propped  up  in  bed, 
complaining  to  his  valet  about  the  weakness  of  the  coffee. 
He  made  the  remark  (which  he  afterwards  repeated  to 
Honora)  that  weak  coffee  and  the  Protestant  religion 
seemed  inseparable;  but  he  did  not  attempt  to  discover  the 
whereabouts,  in  Sutton,  of  the  Church  of  his  fathers.  He 
was  not  in  the  best  of  humours  that  morning,  and  his 
toilet  had  advanced  no  further  when,  an  hour  or  so  later, 
he  perceived  from  behind  his  lace  curtains  Mr.  Howard 
Spence,  dressed  with  comparative  soberness,  handing 
Honora  into  the  omnibus.  The  incident  did  not  serve  to 
improve  the  cynical  mood  in  which  the  Vicomte  found 
himself. 

Indeed,  the  Vicomte,  who  had  a theory  concerning  Mr. 
Spence’s  churchgoing,  was  not  far  from  wrong.  As  may 
have  been  suspected,  it  was  to  Honora  that  credit  was  due. 
It  was  Honora  whom  Mr.  Spence  sought  after  breakfast, 
and  to  whom  he  declared  that  her  presence  alone  prevented 
him  from  leaving  that  afternoon.  It  was  Honora  who  told 
him  that  he  ought  to  bejashamed  of  himself.  And  it  was 
to  Honora,  after  church  was  over  and  they  were  walking 
homeward  together  along  the  dusty  road,  that  Mr.  Spence 
remarked  by  way  of  a delicate  compliment  that  “ the  morn- 
ing had  not  been  a total  loss,  after  all ! ” 

The  little  Presbyterian  church  stood  on  a hillside  just 
outside  of  the  village  and  was,  as  far  as  possible,  the  pos- 
session of  the  Holt  family.  The  morning  sunshine  illu- 
minated the  angels  in  the  Holt  memorial  window,  and  the 
inmates  of  the  Holt  Institution  occupied  all  the  back  pews. 
Mrs.  Joshua  played  the  organ,  and  Susan,  with  several 
young  women  and  a young  man  with  a long  coat  and 
plastered  hair,  sang  in  the  choir.  The  sermon  of  the  elderly 
minister  had  to  do  with  beliefs  rather  than  deeds,  and  was 
the  subject  of  discussion  at  luncheon. 


THE  VICOMTE  CONTINUES  HIS  STUDIES  119 


“ It  is  very  like  a sermon  I found  in  my  room,”  said 
Honora. 

“ I left  that  book  in  your  room,  my  dear,  in  the  hope 
that  you  would  not  overlook  it,”  said  Mrs.  Holt,  approv- 
ingly. “ Joshua,  I wish  you  would  read  that  sermon  aloud 
to  us.” 

“ Oh,  do,  Mr.  Holt ! ” begged  Honora. 

The  Vicomte,  who  had  been  acting  very  strangely 
during  the  meal,  showed 
unmistakable  signs  of  a 
futile  anger.  He  had 
asked  Honora  to  walk 
with  him. 

“ Of  course,”  added 
Mrs.  Holt,  “ no  one  need 
listen  who  doesn’t  wish 
to.  Since  you  were  good  enough  to  reconsider  your  de- 
cision and  attend  divine  service,  Howard,  I suppose  I 
should  be  satisfied.” 

The  reading  took  place  in  the  library.  Through  the 
open  window  Honora  perceived  the  form  of  Joshua  asleep 
in  the  hammock,  his  Sunday  coat  all  twisted  under  him. 
It  worried  her  to  picture  his  attire  when  he  should  wake 
up.  Once  Mrs.  Robert  looked  in,  smiled,  said  nothing, 
and  went  out  again.  At  length,  in  a wicker  chair  under  a 
distant  tree  on  the  lawn,  Honora  beheld  the  dejected  out- 
line of  the  Vicomte.  He  was  trying  to  read,  but  every 
once  in  a while  would  lay  down  his  book  and  gaze  pro- 
tractedly at  the  house,  stroking  his  mustache.  The  low 
song  of  the  bees  around  the  shrubbery  vied  with  Mr.  Holt’s 
slow  reading.  On  the  whole,  the  situation  delighted 
Honora,  who  bit  her  lip  to  refrain  from  smiling  at  M.  de 
Toque ville.  When  at  last  she  emerged  from  the  library, 
he  rose  precipitately  and  came  towards  her  across  the  lawn, 
lifting  his  hands  towards  the  pitiless  puritan  skies. 

“ Enfin  ! ” he  exclaimed  tragically.  “ Ah,  Mademoiselle, 
never  in  my  life  have  I passed  such  a day  ! ” 

“ Are  you  ill,  Vicomte  ? ” she  asked. 

“111!  Were  it  not  for  you,  I would  be  gone.  You 


120 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


alone  sustain  me  — it  is  for  the  pleasure  of  seeing  you 
that  I suffer.  What  kind  of  a menage  is  this,  then, 
where  I am  walked  around  Institutions,  where  I am 
forced  to  listen  to  the  exposition  of  doctrines,  where  the 
coffee  is  weak,  where  Sunday,  which  the  bon  Dieu  set 
aside  for  a jour  de  fete  resembles  to  a day  in  purga- 
tory ? ” 

“But,  Vicomte,”  Honora  laughed,  “you  must  remem- 
ber that  you  are  in  America,  and  that  you  have  come  here 
to  study  our  manners  and  customs.” 

“Ah,  no,”  he  cried,  “ah,  no,  it  cannot  all  be  like  this  ! 
I will  not  believe  it.  Mr.  Holt,  who  sought  to  enter- 
tain me  before  luncheon,  offered  to  show  me  his  collection 
of  Chinese  carvings  ! I,  who  might  be  at  Trouville  or 
Cabourg  ! If  it  were  not  for  you,  Mademoiselle,  I should 
not  stay  here  — not  one  little  minute,”  he  said,  with  a 
slow  intensity.  “ Behold  what  I suffer  for  your  sake  ! ” 

“ For  my  sake  ? ” echoed  Honora. 

“For  what  else?”  demanded  the  Vicomte,  gazing  upon 
her  with  the  eyes  of  martyrdom.  “It  is  not  for  my  health, 
alas  ! Between  the  coffee  and  this  dimanche  I have  the 
vertigo.” 

Honora  laughed  again  at  the  memory  of  the  dizzy  Sun- 
day afternoons  of  her  childhood,  when  she  had  been  taken 
to  see  Mr.  Isham’s  curios. 

“You  are  cruel,”  said  the  Vicomte  ; “you  laugh  at  my 
tortures.” 

“On  the  contrary,  I think  I understand  them,”  she 
replied.  “I  have  often  felt  the  same  way.” 

“My  instinct  was  true,  then,”  he  cried  triumphantly; 
“the  first  time  my  eyes  fell  on  you,  I said  to  myself, 
‘ah,  there  is  one  who  understands.’  And  I am  seldom 
mistaken.” 

“Your  experience  with  the  opposite  sex,”  ventured 
Honora,  “ must  have  made  you  infallible.” 

He  shrugged  and  smiled,  as  one  whose  modesty  forbade 
the  mention  of  conquests. 

“You  do  not  belong  here  either,  Mademoiselle,”  he 
said.  “You  are  not  like  these  people.  You  have  tern- 


THE  VICOMTE  CONTINUES  HIS  STUDIES  121 


perament,  and  a future  — believe  me.  Why  do  you  waste 
your  time  ? ” 

“ What  do  you  mean,  Vicomte  ? ” 

“ Ah,  it  is  not  necessary  to  explain  what  I mean.  It  is 
that  you  do  not  choose  to  understand  — you  are  far  too 
clever.  Why  is  it,  then,  that  you  bore  yourself  by  regard- 
ing Institutions  and  listening  to  sermons  in  your  jeunesse? 
It  is  all  very  well  for  Mademoiselle  Susan,  but  you  are  not 
created  for  a religieuse.  And  again,  it  pleases  you  to 
spend  hours  with  the  stock-broker,  who  is  as  lacking  in 
esprit  as  the  bull  of  Joshua.  He  is  no  companion  for  you.” 

“ I am  afraid,”  she  said  reprovingly,  “ that  you  do  not 
understand  Mr.  Spence.” 

“Par  exemple!  ” cried  the  Vicomte;  “have  I not  seen 
hundreds  like  him  ? Do  not  they  come  to  Paris  and  live 
in  the  great  hotels  and  demand  cocktails  and  read  the 
stock  reports  and  send  cablegrams  all  the  day  long  ? and 
go  to  the  Folies  Bergeres,  and  yawn?  Nom  de  nom,  of 
what  does  his  conversation  consist  ? Of  the  price  of  rail- 
roads, — is  it  not  so  ? I,  who  speak  to  you,  have  talked 
to  him.  Does  he  know  how  to  make  love  ? ” 

“ That  accomplishment  is  not  thought  of  very  highly  in 
America,”  Honora  replied. 

“It  is  because  you  are  a new  country,”  he  declared. 
“ And  you  are  mad  over  money.  Money  has  taken  the 
place  of  love.” 

“ Is  money  so  despised  in  France  ? ” she  asked.  “ I have 
heard — that  you  married  for  it!  ” 

“Touche!  ” cried  the  Vicomte,  laughing.  “You  see,  I 
am  frank  with  you.  We  marry  for  money,  yes,  but  we 
do  not  make  a god  of  it.  It  is  our  servant.  You  make 
it,  and  we  enjoy  it.  Yes,  and  you,  Mademoiselle  — you, 
too,  were  made  to  enjoy.  You  do  not  belong  here,”  he 
said,  with  a disdainful  sweep  of  the  arm.  “ Ah,  I have 
solved  you.  You  have  in  you  the  germ  of  the  Riviera. 
You  were  born  there.” 

Honora  wondered  if  what  he  said  were  true.  Was  she 
different  ? She  was  having  a great  deal  of  pleasure  at 
Silverdale;  even  the  sermon  reading,  which  would  have 


122 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


bored  her  at  home,  had  interested  and  amused  her.  But 
was  it  not  from  the  novelty  of  these  episodes,  rather  than 
from  their  special  characters,  that  she  received  the  stim- 
ulus ? She  glanced  curiously  towards  the  Vicomte,  and 
met  his  eye. 

They  had  been  walking  the  while,  and  had  crossed  the 
lawn  and  entered  one  of  the  many  paths  which  it  had  been 
Robert’s  pastime  to  cut  through  the  woods.  And  at  length 
they  came  out  at  a rustic  summer-house  set  over  the 
wooded  valley.  Honora,  with  one  foot  on  the  ground,  sat 
on  the  railing  gazing  over  the  tree-tops;  the  Vicomte  was 
on  the  bench  beside  her.  His  eyes  sparkled  and  snapped, 
and  suddenly  she  tingled  with  a sense  that  the  situation 
was  not  without  an  element  of  danger. 

“I  had  a feeling  about  you,  last  night  at  dinner,”  he 
said;  “ you  reminded  me  of  a line  of  Marcel  Prevost, 
‘ Cette  femme  ne  sera  pas  aimee  que  parmi  des  drames.’  ” 

“Nonsense,”  said  Honora;  “last  night  at  dinner  you 
were  too  much  occupied  with  Miss  Chamberlin  to  think 
of  me.” 

“ Ah,  Mademoiselle,  you  have  read  me  strangely  if  you 
think  that.  I talked  to  her  with  my  lips,  yes  — but  it  was 
of  you  I was  thinking.  I was  thinking  that  you  were  born 
to  play  a part  in  many  dramas,  that  you  have  the  fatal 
beauty  which  is  rare  in  all  ages.”  The  Vicomte  bent 
towards  her,  and  his  voice  became  caressing.  “ You  can- 
not realize  how  beautiful  you  are,”  he  sighed. 

Suddenly  he  seized  her  hand,  and  before  she  could  with- 
draw it  she  had  the  satisfaction  of  knowing  the  sensation 
of  having  it  kissed.  It  was  a strange  sensation  indeed. 
And  the  fact  that  she  did  not  tingle  with  anger  alone 
made  her  all  the  more  angry.  Trembling,  her  face  burn- 
ing, she  leaped  down  from  the  railing  and  fled  into  the 
path.  And  there,  seeing  that  he  did  not  follow,  she  turned 
and  faced  him.  He  stood  staring  at  her  with  eyes  that 
had  not  ceased  to  sparkle. 

“ How  cowardly  of  you  ! ” she  cried. 

“ Ah,  Mademoiselle,”  he  answered  fervently,  “ I would 
risk  your  anger  a thousand  times  to  see  you  like  that  once 


THE  VICOMTE  CONTINUES  HIS  STUDIES  123 


more.  I cannot  help  my  feelings  — they  were  dead  in- 
deed if  they  did  not  respond  to  such  an  inspiration.  Let 
them  plead  for  my  pardon.” 

Honora  felt  herself  melting  a little.  After  all,  there 
might  have  been  some  excuse  for  it,  and  he  made  love 
divinely.  When  he  had  caught  up  with  her,  his  contrite- 
ness was  such  that  she  was  willing  to  believe  he  had  not 
meant  to  insult  her.  And  then,  he  was  a Frenchman. 
As  a proof  of  his  versatility,  if  not  of  his  good  faith,  he 
talked  of  neutral  matters  on  the  way  back  to  the  house, 
with  the  charming  ease  and  lightness  that  was  the  gift 
of  his  race  and  class.  On  the  borders  of  the  wood  they 
encountered  the  Robert  Holts,  walking  with  their  children. 

“ Madame,”  said  the  Vicomte  to  Gwendolen,  “ your 
Silverdale  is  enchanting.  We  have  been  to  that  little 
summer-house  which  commands  the  valley.” 

“ And  are  you  still  learning  things  about  our  country, 
Vicomte?  ” she  asked,  with  a glance  at  Honora. 


CHAPTER  X 


IN  WHICH  HONORA  WIDENS  HER  HORIZON 

If  it  were  not  a digression,  it  might  be  interesting  to 
speculate  upon  the  reason  why,  in  view  of  their  expressed 
opinions  of  Silverdale,  both  the  Vicomte  and  Mr.  Spence 
remained  during  the  week  that  followed.  Robert,  who 
went  off  in  the  middle  of  it  with  his  family  to  the  sea- 
shore, described  it  to  Honora  as  a normal  week.  During 
its  progress  there  came  and  went  a missionary  from  China, 
a pianist,  an  English  lady  who  had  heard  of  the  Institu- 
tion, a Southern  spinster  with  literary  gifts,  a youthful 
architect  who  had  not  built  anything,  and  a young  lawyer 
interested  in  settlement  work. 

The  missionary  presented  our  heroine  with  a book  he 
had  written  about  the  Yang-tse-kiang ; the  Southern  lady 
suspected  her  of  literary  gifts ; the  architect  walked  with 
her  through  the  woods  to  the  rustic  shelter  where  the 
Vicomte  had  kissed  her  hand,  and  told  her  that  he  now 
comprehended  the  feelings  of  Christopher  Wren  when  he 
conceived  St.  Paul’s  Cathedral,  of  Michael  Angelo  when 
he  painted  the  Sistine  Chapel.  Even  the  serious  young 
lawyer  succumbed,  though  not  without  a struggle.  When 
he  had  first  seen  Miss  Leffingwell,  he  confessed,  he  had 
thought  her  frivolous.  He  had  done  her  an  injustice,  and 
wished  to  acknowledge  it  before  he  left.  And,  since  she 
was  interested  in  settlement  work,  he  hoped,  if  she  were 
going  through  New  York,  that  she  would  let  him  know. 
It  would  be  a real  pleasure  to  show  her  what  he  was  doing. 

Best  of  all,  Honora,  by  her  unselfishness,  endeared  her- 
self to  her  hostess.” 

“ I can’t  tell  you  what  a real  help  you  are  to  me,  my 
dear,”  said  that  lady.  “You  have  a remarkable  gift  with 

124 


HONORA  WIDENS  HER  HORIZON 


125 


people  for  so  young  a girl,  and  I do  you  the  credit  of 
thinking  that  it  all  springs  from  a kind  heart.” 

In  the  meantime,  unknown  to  Mrs.  Holt,  who  might  in 
all  conscience  have  had  a knowledge  of  what  may  be 
called  social  chemistry,  a drama  was  slowly  unfolding  it- 
self. By  no  fault  of  Honora’s,  of  course.  There  may  have 
been  some  truth  in  the  quotation  of  the  Vicomte  as  applied 
to  her  — that  she  was  destined  to  be  loved  only  amidst  the 
play  of  drama.  If  experience  is  worth  anything,  Monsieur 
de  Toque ville  should  have  been  an  expert  in  matters  of 
the  sex.  Could  it  be  possible,  Honora  asked  herself  more 
than  once,  that  his  feelings  were  deeper  than  her  feminine 
instinct  and  the  knowledge  she  had  gleaned  from  novels 
led  her  to  suspect  ? 

It  is  painful  to  relate  that  the  irregularity  and  deceit  of 
the  life  the  Vicomte  was  leading  amused  her,  for  existence 
at  Silverdale  was  plainly  not  of  a kind  to  make  a gentle- 
man of  the  Vicomte’s  temperament  and  habits  ecstatically 
happy.  And  Honora  was  filled  with  a strange  and  unac- 
countable delight  when  she  overheard  him  assuring  Mrs. 
Wellfleet,  the  English  lady  of  eleemosynary  tendencies, 
that  he  was  engaged  in  a study  at  first  hand  of  Americans. 

The  time  has  come  to  acknowledge  frankly  that  it  was 
Honora  he  was  studying  — Honora  as  the  type  of  young 
American  womanhood.  What  he  did  not  suspect  was  that 
young  American  womanhood  was  studying  him.  Thanks 
to  a national  System,  she  had  had  an  apprenticeship ; the 
heart-blood  of  Algernon  Cartwright  and  many  others  had 
not  been  shed  in  vain.  And  the  fact  that  she  was  playing 
with  real  fire,  that  this  was  a duel  with  the  buttons  off, 
lent  a piquancy  and  zest  to  the  pastime  which  it  had 
hitherto  lacked. 

The  Vicomte’s  feelings  were  by  no  means  hidden  pro- 
cesses to  Honora,  and  it  was  as  though  she  could  lift  the 
lid  of  the  furnace  at  any  time  and  behold  the  growth  of 
the  flame  which  she  had  lighted.  Nay,  nature  had  en- 
dowed her  with  such  a gift  that  she  could  read  the  daily 
temperature  as  by  a register  hung  on  the  outside,  without 
getting  scorched.  Nor  had  there  been  any  design  on  her 


126 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


part  in  thus  tormenting  his  soul.  He  had  not  meant  to 
remain  more  than  four  days  at  Silverdale,  that  she  knew; 
he  had  not  meant  to  come  to  America  and  fall  in  love  with 
a penniless  beauty  — that  she  knew  also.  The  climax 
would  be  interesting,  if  perchance  uncomfortable. 

It  is  wonderful  what  we  can  find  the  time  to  do,  if  we 
only  try.  Monsieur  de  Toque ville  lent  Honora  novels, 
which  she  read  in  bed;  but  being  in  the  full  bloom  of 
health  and  of  a strong  constitution,  this  practice  did  not 
prevent  her  from  rising  at  seven  to  take  a walk  through 
the  garden  with  Mr.  Holt  — a custom  which  he  had  come 
insensibly  to  depend  upon.  And  in  the  brief  conversations 
which  she  vouchsafed  the  Vicomte,  they  discussed  his 
novels.  In  vain  he  pleaded,  in  caressing  undertones,  that 
she  should  ride  with  him.  Honora  had  never  been  on  a 
horse,  but  she  did  not  tell  him  so.  If  she  would  but  drive, 
or  walk  — only  a little  way  — he  would  promise  faithfully 
not  to  forget  himself.  Honora  intimated  that  the  period 
of  his  probation  had  not  yet  expired.  If  he  waylaid  her 
on  the  stairs,  he  got  but  little  satisfaction. 

“ Y ou  converse  by  the  hour  with  the  missionaries,  and 
take  long  promenades  with  the  architects  and  charity 
workers,  but  to  me  you  will  give  nothing,”  he  complained. 

“ The  persons  of  whom  you  speak  are  not  dangerous,” 
answered  Honora,  giving  him  a look. 

The  look,  and  being  called  dangerous,  sent  up  the  tem- 
perature several  degrees.  Frenchmen  are  not  the  only 
branch  of  the  male  sex  who  are  complimented  by  being 
called  dangerous.  The  Vicomte  was  desolated,  so  he  said. 

“ I stay  here  only  for  you,  and  the  coffee  is  slowly  de- 
ranging me,”  he  declared  in  French,  for  most  of  their  con- 
versations were  in  that  language.  If  there  were  duplicity 
in  this,  Honora  did  not  recognize  it.  “ I stay  here  only 
for  you,  and  how  you  are  cruel!  I live  for  you  — how, 
the  good  God  only  knows.  I exist  — to  see  you  for  ten 
minutes  a day.” 

“ Oh,  Vicomte,  you  exaggerate.  If  you  were  to  count 
it  up,  I am  sure  you  would  find  that  we  talk  an  hour  at 
least,  altogether.  And  then,  although  I am  very  young 


HONORA  WIDENS  HER  HORIZON 


127 


and  inexperienced,  I can  imagine  how  many  conquests  you 
have  made  by  the  same  arts.” 

“I  suffer,”  he  cried;  “ah,  no,  you  cannot  look  at  me 
without  perceiving  it  — you  who  are  so  heartless.  And 
when  I see  you  play  at  golf  with  that  Mr.  Spence  — ! ” 

“ Surely,”  said  Honora,  “ you  can’t  object  to  my  acquir- 
ing a new  accomplishment  when  I have  the  opportunity, 
and  Mr.  Spence  is  so  kind  and  good-natured  about  it.” 

“ Do  you  think  I have  no  eyes  ? ” he  exclaimed.  “ Have 
I not  seen  him  look  at  you  like  the  great  animal  of  Joshua 
when  he  wants  his  supper  ? He  is  without  esprit,  without 
soul.  There  is  nothing  inside  of  him  but  money-making 
machinery.” 

“ The  most  valuable  of  all  machinery,”  she  replied,  laugh- 

ingiy- 

“If  I thought  you  believed  that,  Mademoiselle,  if  I 
thought  you  were  like  so  many  of  your  countrywomen  in 
this  respect,  I should  leave  to-morrow,”  he  declared. 

“ Don’t  be  too  sure,  Vicomte,”  she  cautioned  him. 

If  one  possessed  a sense  of  humour  and  a certain  knowl- 
edge of  mankind,  the  spectacle  of  a young  and  successful 
Wall  Street  broker  at  Silverdale  that  week  was  apt  to  be 
diverting.  Mr.  Spence  held  his  own.  He  advised  the 
architect  to  make  a specialty  of  country  houses,  and  prom- 
ised some  day  to  order  one  : he  disputed  boldly  with  the 
other  young  man  as  to  the  practical  uses  of  settlement 
work,  and  even  measured  swords  with  the  missionary. 
Needless  to  say,  he  was  not  popular  with  these  gentlemen. 
But  he  was  also  good-natured  and  obliging,  and  he  did  not 
object  to  repeating  for  the  English  lady  certain  phrases 
which  she  called  “ picturesque  expressions,”  and  which  she 
wrote  down  with  a gold  pencil. 

It  is  evident,  from  the  Yicomte’s  remarks,  that  he  found 
time  to  continue  Honora’s  lessons  in  golf  — or  rather  that 
she  found  time,  in  the  midst  of  her  manifold  and  self-im- 
posed duties,  to  take  them.  And  in  this  diversion  she  was 
encouraged  by  Mrs.  Holt  herself.  On  Saturday  morning, 
the  heat  being  unusual,  they  ended  their  game  by  common 
consent  at  the  fourth  hole  and  descended  a wood  road  to 


128 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


Silver  Brook,  to  a spot  which  they  had  visited  once  before 
and  had  found  attractive.  Honora,  after  bathing  her  face 
in  the  pool,  perched  herself  on  a boulder.  She  was  very 
fresh  and  radiant. 

This  fact,  if  she  had  not  known  it,  she  might  have 
gathered  from  Mr.  Spence’s  expression.  He  had  laid 
down  his  coat ; his  sleeves  were  rolled  up  and  his  arms 
were  tanned,  and  he  stood  smoking  a cigarette  and  gazing 
at  her  with  approbation.  She  lowered  her  eyes. 

“ Well,  we’ve  had  a pretty  good  time,  haven’t  we  ? ” he 
remarked. 

Lightning  sometimes  fails  in  its  effect,  but  the  look  she 
flashed  back  at  him  from  under  her  blue  lashes  seldom 
misses. 

“ I’m  afraid  I haven’t  been  a very  apt  pupil,”  she  re- 
plied modestly. 

“You’re  on  the  highroad  to  a cup,”  he  assured  her. 
“ If  I could  take  you  on  for  another  week  — ” He  paused, 
and  an  expression  came  into  his  eyes  which  was  not  new 
to  Honora,  nor  peculiar  to  Mr.  Spence.  “ I have  to  go 
back  to  town  on  Monday.” 

If  Honora  felt  any  regret  at  this  announcement,  she  did 
not  express  it. 

“ I thought  you  couldn’t  stand  Silverdale  much  longer,” 
she  replied. 

“You  know  why  I stayed,”  he  said,  and  paused  again  — 
rather  awkwardly,  for  Mr.  Spence.  But  Honora  was 
silent.  “ I had  a letter  this  morning  from  my  partner, 
Sidney  Dallam,  calling  me  back.” 

“ I suppose  you  are  very  busy,”  said  Honora,  detaching 
a copper-green  scale  of  moss  from  the  boulder. 

“ The  fact  is,”  he  explained,  “ that  we  have  received  an 
order  of  considerable  importance,  for  which  I am  more  or 
less  responsible.  Something  of  a compliment  — since  we 
are,  after  all,  comparatively  young  men.” 

“ Sometimes,”  said  Honora,  “ sometimes  I wish  I were 
a man.  Women  are  so  hampered  and  circumscribed,  and 
have  to  wait  for  things  to  happen  to  them.  A man  can  do 
what  he  wants.  He  can  go  into  Wall  Street  and  fight 


130 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


until  he  controls  miles  of  railroads  and  thousands  and 
thousands  of  men.  That  would  be  a career  ! ” 

“Yes,”  he  agreed,  smilingly,  44  it’s  worth  fighting  for.” 

Her  eyes  were  burning  with  a strange  light  as  she  looked 
down  the  vista  of  the  wood  road  by  which  they  had  come. 
He  flung  his  cigarette  into  the  water  and  took  a step 
nearer  her. 

44  How  long  have  I known  you  ? ” he  asked. 

She  started. 

44  Why,  it’s  only  a little  more  than  a week,”  she  said. 

44  Does  it  seem  longer  than  that  to  you  ? ” 

44  Yes,”  admitted  Honora,  colouring;  44 1 suppose  it’s  be- 
cause we’ve  been  staying  in  the  same  house.” 

44  It  seems  to  me,”  said  Mr.  Spence,  44  that  I have  known 
you  always.” 

Honora  sat  very  still.  It  passed  through  her  brain, 
without  comment,  that  there  was  a certain  haunting 
familiarity  about  this  remark  ; some  other  voice,  in  some 
other  place,  had  spoken  it,  and  in  very  much  the  same 
tone. 

44  You’re  the  kind  of  girl  I admire,”  he  declared. 
44  I’ve  been  watching  you  — more  than  you  have  any  idea 
of.  You’re  adaptable.  Put  you  down  any  place,  and 
you  take  hold.  For  instance,  it’s  a marvellous  thing  to 
me  how  you’ve  handled  all  the  curiosities  up  there  this 
week.” 

44  Oh,  I like  people,”  said  Honora,  44  they  interest  me.” 
And  she  laughed  a little,  nervously.  She  was  aware  that 
Mr.  Spence  was  making  love,  in  his  own  manner  : the 
New  York  manner,  undoubtedly;  though  what  he  said 
was  changed  by  the  new  vibrations  in  his  voice.  He  was 
making  love,  too,  with  a characteristic  lack  of  apology  and 
with  assurance.  She  stole  a glance  at  him,  and  beheld 
the  image  of  a dominating  man  of  affairs.  He  did  not,  it 
is  true,  evoke  in  her  that  extreme  sensation  which  has  been 
called  a thrill.  She  had  read  somewhere  that  women 
were  always  expecting  thrills,  and  never  got  them.  Never- 
theless, she  had  not  realized  how  close  a bond  of  sympathy 
had  grown  between  them  until  this  sudden  announcement 


HONORA  WIDENS  HER  HORIZON 


131 


of  his  going  back  to  New  York.  In  a little  while  she  too 
would  be  leaving  for  St.  Louis.  The  probability  that  she 
would  never  see  him  again  seemed  graver  than  she  would 
have  believed. 

“ Will  you  miss  me  a little  ? ” he  asked. 

“ Oh,  yes,”  she  said  breathlessly,  “ and  I shall  be  curious 
to  know  how  your  — your  enterprise  succeeds.” 

“ Honora,”  he  said,  “ it  is  only  a week  since  I first  met 
you,  but  I know  my  own  mind.  You  are  the  woman  I 
want,  and  I think  I may  say  without  boasting  that  I can 
give  you  what  you  desire  in  life  — after  a while.  I love 
you.  You  are  young,  and  just  now  I felt  that  per- 
haps I should  have  waited  a year  before  speaking,  but  I 
was  afraid  of  missing  altogether  what  I know  to  be  the 
great  happiness  of  my  life.  Will  you  marry  me  ? ” 

She  sat  silent  upon  the  rock.  She  heard  him  speak,  it 
is  true;  but,  try  as  she  would,  the  full  significance  of 
his  words  would  not  come  to  her.  She  had,  indeed,  no 
idea  that  he  would  propose,  no  notion  that  his  heart  was 
involved  to  such  an  extent.  He  was  very  near  her,  but 
he  had  not  attempted  to  touch  her.  His  voice,  towards 
the  end  of  his  speech,  had  trembled  with  passion  — a true 
note  had  been  struck.  And  she  had  struck  it,  by  no 
seeming  effort  ! He  wished  to  marry  her  ! 

He  aroused  her  again. 

“ I have  frightened  you,”  he  said. 

She  opened  her  eyes.  What  he  beheld  in  them  was  not 
fright  — it  was  nothing  he  had  ever  seen  before.  For  the 
first  time  in  his  life,  perhaps,  he  was  awed.  And,  seeing 
him  helpless,  she  put  out  her  hands  to  him  with  a gesture 
that  seemed  to  enhance  her  gift  a thousand-fold.  He  had 
not  realized  what  he  was  getting. 

“Iam  not  frightened,”  she  said.  “ Yes,  I will  marry 
you.” 

He  was  not  sure  whether  — so  brief  was  the  moment  ! 
— he  had  held  and  kissed  her  cheek.  His  arms  were 
empty  now,  and  he  caught  a glimpse  of  her  poised  on  the 
road  above  him  amidst  the  quivering,  sunlit  leaves,  looking 
back  at  him  over  her  shoulder. 


132 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


He  followed  her,  bat  she  kept  nimbly  ahead  of  him  until 
they  came  out  into  the  open  golf  course.  He  tried  to 
think,  but  failed.  Never  in  his  orderly  life  had  anything 
so  precipitate  happened  to  him.  He  caught  up  with  her, 
devoured  her  with  his  eyes,  and  beheld  in  marriage  a 
delirium. 

“ Honora,”  he  said  thickly,  “I  can’t  grasp  it.” 

She  gave  him  a quick  look,  and  a smile  quivered  at  the 
corners  of  her  mouth. 

44  What  are  you  thinking  of  ? ” he  asked. 

“I  am  thinking  of  Mrs.  Holt’s  expression  when  we  tell 
her,”  said  Honora.  44  But  we  shan’t  tell  her  yet,  shall  we, 
Howard?  We’ll  have  it  for  our  own  secret  a little 
while.” 

The  golf  course  being  deserted,  he  pressed  her  arm. 

44  We’ll  tell  her  whenever  you  like,  dear,”  he  replied. 

In  spite  of  the  fact  that  they  drove  Joshua’s  trotter 
much  too  rapidly  in  the  heat  of  the  day,  they  were  late 
to  lunch. 

44 1 shall  never  be  able  to  go  in  there  and  not  give  it 
away,”  he  whispered  to  her  on  the  stairs. 

44  You  look  like  the  Cheshire  cat  in  the  tree,”  whispered 
Honora,  laughing,  44  only  more  purple,  and  not  so  ghost- 
like.” 

44 1 know  I’m  smiling,”  replied  Howard, 44 1 feel  like  it, 
but  I can’t  help  it.  It  won’t  come  off.  I want  to  blurt 
out  the  news  to  every  one  in  the  dining-room  — to  that 
little  Frenchman,  in  particular.” 

Honora  laughed  again.  Her  imagination  easily  sum- 
moned up  the  tableau  which  such  a proceeding  would 
bring  forth.  The  incredulity,  the  chagrin,  the  indig- 
nation, even,  in  some  quarters.  He  conceived  the  house- 
hold, with  the  exception  of  the  Yicomte,  precipitating 
themselves  into  his  arms. 

Honora,  who  was  cool  enough  herself  (no  doubt  owing 
to  the  superior  training  which  women  receive  in  matters 
of  deportment),  observed  that  his  entrance  was  not  a 
triumph  of  dissimulation.  His  colour  was  high,  and  his 
expression,  indeed,  a little  idiotic ; and  he  declared  after- 


HONORA  WIDENS  HER  HORIZON 


133 


wards  that  he  felt  like  a sandwich-man,  with  the  news 
printed  in  red  letters  before  and  behind.  Honora  knew 
that  the  intense  improbability  of  the  truth  would  save 
them,  and  it  did.  Mrs.  Holt  remarked,  slyly,  that  the 
game  of  golf  must  have  hidden  attractions,  and  regretted 
that  she  was  too  old  to  learn  it. 

“ We  went  very  slowly  on  account  of  the  heat,”  Howard 
declared. 

“ I should  say  that  you  had  gone  very  rapidly,  from  your 
face,”  retorted  Mrs.  Holt.  In  relaxing  moods  she  indulged 
in  banter. 

Honora  stepped  into  the  breach.  She  would  not  trust 
her  newly  acquired  fiance  to  extricate  himself. 

“ We  were  both  very  much  worried,  Mrs.  Holt,”  she 
explained,  “because  we  were  late  for  lunch  once  before.” 

“ I suppose  I’ll  have  to  forgive  you,  my  dear,  es- 
pecially with  that  colour.  I am  modern  enough  to  ap- 
prove of  exercise  for  young  girls,  and  I am  sure  your 
Aunt  Mary  will  think  Silverdale  has  done  you  good  when 
I send  you  back  to  her.” 

“ Oh,  I’m  sure  she  will,”  said  Honora. 

In  the  meantime  Mr.  Spence  was  concentrating  all  of 
his  attention  upon  a jellied  egg.  Honora  glanced  at  the 
Yicomte.  He  sat  ver}^  stiff,  and  his  manner  of  twisting 
his  mustache  reminded  her  of  an  animal  sharpening  its 
claws.  It  was  at  this  moment  that  the  butler  handed 
her  a telegram,  which,  with  Mrs.  Holt’s  permission,  she 
opened  and  read  twice  before  the  meaning  of  it  came  to 
her. 

“ I hope  it  is  no  bad  news,  Honora,”  said  Mrs.  Holt. 

“ It’s  from  Peter  Erwin,”  she  replied,  still  a little 
dazed.  “He’s  in  New  York.  And  he’s  coming  up  on 
the  five  o’clock  train  to  spend  an  hour  with  me.” 

“Oh,”  said  Susan;  “I  remember  his  picture  on  your 
bureau  at  Sutcliffe.  He  had  such  a good  face.  And  you 
told  me  about  him.” 

“ He  is  like  my  brother,”  Honora  explained,  aware  that 
Howard  was  looking  at  her.  “ Only  he  is  much  older 
than  I.  He  used  to  wheel  me  up  and  down  when  I was 


134 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


a baby.  He  was  an  errand  boy  in  the  bank  then,  and 
Uncle  Tom  took  an  interest  in  him,  and  now  he  is  a law- 
yer. A very  good  one,  I believe.” 

“ I have  a great  respect  for  any  man  who  makes  his 
own  way  in  life,”  said  Mrs.  Holt.  “And  since  he  is 
such  an  old  friend,  my  dear,  you  must  ask  him  to  spend 
the  night.” 

“ Oh,  thank  you,  Mrs.  Holt,”  Honora  answered. 

It  was,  however,  with  mingled  feelings  that  she  thought 
of  Peter’s  arrival  at  this  time.  Life,  indeed,  was  full  of 
strange  coincidences  ! 

There  was  a little  door  that  led  out  of  the  house  by  the 
billiard  room,  Honora  remembered,  and  contrived,  after 
luncheon,  to  slip  away  and  reach  it.  She  felt  that  she 
must  be  alone,  and  if  she  went  to  her  room  she  was  likely 
to  be  disturbed  by  Susan  or  Mrs.  Joshua  — or  indeed  Mrs. 
Holt  herself.  Honora  meant  to  tell  Susan  the  first  of  all. 
She  crossed  the  great  lawn  quickly,  keeping  as  much  as 
possible  the  trees  and  masses  of  shrubbery  between  her- 
self and  the  house,  and  reached  the  forest.  With  a 
really  large  fund  of  energy  at  her  disposal,  Honora  had 
never  been  one  to  believe  in  the  useless  expenditure  of  it; 
nor  did  she  feel  the  intense  desire  which  a girl  of  another 
temperament  might  have  had,  under  the  same  conditions, 
to  keep  in  motion.  So  she  sat  down  on  a bench  within 
the  borders  of  the  wood. 

It  was  not  that  she  wished  to  reflect,  in  the  ordinary 
meaning  of  the  word,  that  she  had  sought  seclusion,  but 
rather  to  give  her  imagination  free  play.  The  enormity 
of  the  change  that  vvas  to  come  into  her  life  did  not  ap- 
pall her  in  the  least;  but  she  had,  in  connection  with  it,  a 
sense  of  unreality  which,  though  not  unpleasant,  she  sought 
unconsciously  to  dissipate.  Howard  Spence,  she  reflected 
with  a smile,  was  surely  solid  and  substantial  enough,  and 
she  thought  of  him  the  more  tenderly  for  the  possession  of 
these  attributes.  A castle  founded  on  such  a rock  was 
not  a castle  in  Spain  ! 

It  did  not  occur  to  Honora  that  her  thoughts  might  be 
more  of  the  castle  than  of  the  rock:  of  the  heaven  he  was 


HONORA  WIDENS  HER  HORIZON 


135 


to  hold  on  his  shoulders  than  of  the  Hercules  she  had 
chosen  to  hold  it. 

She  would  write  to  her  Aunt  Mary  and  her  Uncle  Tom 
that  very  afternoon  — one  letter  to  both.  Tears  came  into 
her  eyes  when  she  thought  of  them,  and  of  their  lonely  life 
without  her.  But  they  would  come  on  to  New  York  to 
visit  her  often,  and  they  would  be  proud  of  her.  Of  one 
thing  she  was  sure  — she  must  go  home  to  them  at  once 
— on  Tuesday.  She  would  tell  Mrs.  Holt  to-morrow,  and 
Susan  to-night.  And,  while  pondering  over  the  probable 
expression  of  that  lady’s  amazement,  it  suddenly  occurred 
to  her  that  she  must  write  the  letter  immediately,  because 
Peter  Erwin  was  coming. 

What  would  he  say  ? Should  she  tell  him  ? She  was 
surprised  to  find  that  the  idea  of  doing  so  was  painful  to 
her.  But  she  was  aroused  from  these  reflections  by  a step 
on  the  path,  and  raised  her  head  to  perceive  the  Vicomte. 
His  face  wore  an  expression  of  triumph. 

“ At  last,”  he  cried,  “at  last!”  And  he  sat  down  on 
the  bench  beside  her.  Her  first  impulse  was  to  rise,  yet 
for  some  inexplicable  reason  she  remained. 

“ I always  suspected  in  you  the  qualities  of  a Monsieur 
Lecoq,”  she  remarked.  “ You  have  an  instinct  for  the 
chase.” 

“ Mon  dieu!”  he  said.  “ I have  risked  a stroke  of  the  sun 
to  find  you.  Why  should  you  so  continually  run  away 
from  me  ? ” 

“To  test  your  ingenuity,  Vicomte.” 

“ And  that  other  one  — the  stock-broker  — you  do  not 
avoid  him.  Diable,  I am  not  blind,  Mademoiselle.  It  is 
plain  to  me  at  luncheon  that  you  have  made  boil  the 
sluggish  blood  of  that  one.  As  for  me  — ” 

“ Your  boiling-point  is  lower,”  she  said,  smiling. 

“ Listen,  Mademoiselle,”  he  pursued,  bending  towards 
her.  “ It  is  not  for  my  health  that  I stay  here,  as  I have 
told  you.  It  is  for  the  sight  of  you,  for  the  sound  of  the 
music  of  that  low  voice.  It  is  in  the  hope  that  you  will 
be  a little  kinder,  that  you  will  understand  me  a little 
better.  And  to-day,  when  I learn  that  still  another  is  on 


136 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


his  way  to  see  yon,  I could  sit  still  no  longer.  I do  not 
fear  that  Spence,  — no.  But  this  other  — what  is  he  like  ? ” 

“He  is  the  best  type  of  American,”  replied  Honora. 
“ I am  sure  you  will  be  interested  in  him,  and  like  him.” 

The  Vicomte  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

“It  is  not  in  America  that  you  will  find  your  destiny, 
Mademoiselle.  You  are  made  to  grace  a salon,  a court, 
which  you  will  not  find  in  this  country.  Such  a woman 
as  you  is  thrown  away  here.  You  possess  qualities  — you 
will  pardon  me  — in  which  your  countrywomen  are  lack- 
ing, — esprit,  imagination,  elan,  the  power  to  bind  people  to 
you.  I have  read  you  as  you  have  not  read  yourself.  I 
have  seen  how  you  have  served  yourself  by  this  famille 
Holt,  and  how  at  the  same  time  you  have  kept  their  friend- 
ship.” 

“ Vicomte!”  she  exclaimed. 

“ Ah,  do  not  get  angry,”  he  begged ; “ such  gifts  are 
rare  — they  are  sublime.  They  lead,”  he  added,  raising 
his  arms,  “ to  the  heights.” 

Honora  was  silent.  She  was,  indeed,  not  unmoved  by 
his  voice,  into  which  there  was  creeping  a vibrant  note  of 
passion.  She  was  a little  frightened,  but  likewise  puzzled 
and  interested.  This  was  all  so  different  from  what  she 
had  expected  of  him.  What  did  he  mean  ? Was  she  in- 
deed like  that  ? 

She  was  aware  that  he  was  speaking  again,  that  he  was 
telling  her  of  a chateau  in  France  which  his  ancestors  had 
owned  since  the  days  of  Louis  XII ; a grey  pile  that  stood 
upon  a thickly  wooded  height,  — a chateau  with  a banquet 
hall,  where  kings  had  dined,  with  a chapel  where  kings  had 
prayed,  with  a flowering  terrace  high  above  a gleaming 
river.  It  was  there  that  his  childhood  had  been  passed. 
And  as  he  spoke,  she  listened  with  mingled  feelings, 
picturing  the  pageantry  of  life  in  such  a place. 

“ I tell  you  this,  Mademoiselle,”  he  said,  “that  you  may 
know  I am  not  what  you  call  an  adventurer.  Many  of 
these,  alas  ! come  to  your  country.  And  I ask  you  to  re- 
gard with  some  leniency  customs  which  must  be  strange 
to  Americans.  When  we  marry  in  France,  it  is  with  a dot, 


HONORA  WIDENS  HER  HORIZON 


137 


and  especially  is  it  necessary  amongst  the  families  of  our 
nobility.” 

Honora  rose,  the  blood  mounting  to  her  temples. 

“Mademoiselle,”  he  cried,  “do  not  misunderstand  me. 
I would  die  rather  than  hurt  your  feelings.  Listen,  I pray. 
It  was  to  tell  you  frankly  that  I came  to  this  country  for 
that  purpose,  — in  order  that  I might  live  as  my  ancestors 
have  lived,  with  a hotel  in  Paris.  But  the  chateau,  grace 
a dieu,  is  not  mortgaged,  nor  am  I wholly  impoverished. 
I have  soixante 
quinze  mille  livres 
de  rente,  which  is 
fifteen  tho.usand 
dollars  a year  in 
your  money,  and 
which  goes  much 
farther  in  France. 

At  the  proper  time, 

I will  present  these 
matters  to  your 
guardians.  I have 
lived,  but  I have 
a heart,  and  I love 
you  madly.  Rather 
would  I dwell  with 
you  in  Provence, 
where  I will  culti- 
vate the  soil  of  my  s 

forefathers,  than  a palace  on  the  Champs  Elysees  with 
another.  We  can  come  to  Paris  for  two  months,  at  least. 
For  you  I can  throw  my  prospects  out  of  the  window  with 
a light  heart.  Honore  — how  sweet  is  your  name  in  my 
language  — I love  you  to  despair.” 

He  seized  her  hand  and  pressed  it  to  his  lips,  but  she 
drew  it  gently  away.  It  seemed  to  her  that  he  had  made 
the  very  air  quiver  with  feeling,  and  she  let  herself  won- 
der, for  a moment,  what  life  with  him  would  be.  Incredi- 
ble as  it  seemed,  he  had  proposed  to  her,  a penniless  girl  ! 
Her  own  voice  was  not  quite  steady  as  she  answered  him, 
and  her  eyes  were  filled  with  compassion. 


138 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


“ Vicomte,”  she  said,  “ I did  not  know  that  yon  cared 
for  me  — that  way.  I thought  — I thought  you  were 
amusing  yourself.” 

“ Amusing  myself  ! ” he  exclaimed  bitterly.  “ And  you 
— were  you  amusing  yourself  ? ” 

“I  — I tried  to  avoid  you,”  she  replied,  in  a low  voice. 
“ I am  engaged.” 

“ Engaged  ! ” He  sprang  to  his  feet.  “ Engaged!  Ah, 
no,  I will  not  believe  it.  You  were  engaged  when  you 
came  here  ? ” 

She  was  no  little  alarmed  by  the  violence  which  he  threw 
into  his  words.  At  the  same  time,  she  was  indignant. 
And  yet  a mischievous  sprite  within  her  led  her  on  to  tell 
him  the  truth. 

“No,  I am  going  to  marry  Mr.  Howard  Spence,  although 
I do  not  wish  it  announced.” 

For  a moment  he  stood  motionless,  speechless,  staring  at 
her,  and  then  he  seemed  to  sway  a little  and  to  choke. 

“ No,  no,”  he  cried,  “it  cannot  be  ! My  ears  have  de- 
ceived me.  I am  not  sane.  You  are  going  to  marry 
him  — ? Ah,  you  have  sold  yourself.” 

“ Monsieur  de  Toque ville,”  she  said,  “ you  forget  your- 
self. Mr.  Spence  is  an  honourable  man,  and  I love  him.” 

The  Vicomte  appeared  to  choke  again.  And  then,  sud- 
denly, he  became  himself,  although  his  voice  was  by  no 
means  natural.  His  elaborate  and  ironic  bow  she  re- 
membered for  many  years. 

“Pardon,  Mademoiselle,”  he  said,  “and  adieu.  You 
will  be  good  enough  to  convey  my  congratulations  to  Mr. 
Spence.” 

With  a kind  of  military  “about  face  ” he  turned  and  left 
her  abruptly,  and  she  watched  him  as  he  hurried  across  the 
lawn  until  he  had  disappeared  behind  the  trees  near  the 
house.  When  she  sat  down  on  the  bench  again,  she  found 
that  she  was  trembling  a little.  Was  the  unexpected  to 
occur  to  her  from  now  on  ? Was  it  true,  as  the  Vicomte 
had  said,  that  she  was  destined  to  be  loved  amidst  the  play 
of  drama  ? 

She  felt  sorry  for  him  because  he  had  loved  her  enough 


HONORA  WIDENS  HER  HORIZON 


139 


to  fling  to  the  winds  his  chances  of  wealth  for  her  sake  — a 
sufficient  measure  of  the  feelings  of  one  of  his  nationality 
and  caste.  And  she  permitted,  for  an  instant,  her  mind  to 
linger  on  the  supposition  that  Howard  Spence  had  never 
come  into  her  life ; might  she  not,  when  the  Vicomte  had 
made  his  unexpected  and  generous  avowal,  have  accepted 
him?  She  thought  of  the  romances  of  her  childish  days, 
written  at  fever  heat,  in  which  ladies  with  titles  moved 
around  and  gave  commands  and  rebuked  lovers  who  slipped 
in  through  wicket  gates.  And  to  think  that  she  might 
have  been  a Yicomtesse  and  have  lived  in  a castle  ! 

A poor  Yicomtesse,  it  is  true. 


CHAPTER  XI 


WHAT  MIGHT  HAVE  BEEN 

Hohoba  sat  still  upon  the  bench.  After  an  indefinite 
period  she  saw  through  the  trees  a vehicle  on  the  drive- 
way, and  in  it  a single  passenger.  And  suddenly  it 
occurred  to  her  that  the  passenger  must  be  Peter,  for  Mrs. 
Holt  had  announced  her  intention  of  sending  for  him. 
She  arose  and  approached  the  house,  not  without  a sense 
of  agitation. 

She  halted  a moment  at  a little  distance  from  the  porch, 
where  he  was  talking  with  Howard  Spence  and  Joshua, 
and  the  fact  that  he  was  an  unchanged  Peter  came  to  her 
with  a shock  of  surprise.  So  much,  in  less  than  a year, 
had  happened  to  Honora!  And  the  sight  of  him,  and  the 
sound  of  his  voice,  brought  back  with  a rush  memories  of 
a forgotten  past.  How  long  it  seemed  since  she  had  lived 
in  St.  Louis  ! 

Yes,  he  was  the  same  Peter,  but  her  absence  from  him 
had  served  to  sharpen  her  sense  of  certain  characteristics. 
He  was  lounging  in  his  chair  with  his  long  legs  crossed, 
with  one  hand  in  his  pocket,  and  talking  to  these  men  as 
though  he  had  known  them  always.  There  was  a quality 
about  him  which  had  never  struck  her  before,  and  which 
eluded  exact  definition.  It  had  never  occurred  to  her, 
until  now,  when  she  saw  him  out  of  the  element  with 
which  she  had  always  associated  him,  that  Peter  Erwin 
had  a personality.  That  personality  was  a mixture  of  sim- 
plicity and  self-respect  and  — common  sense.  And,  as 
Honora  listened  to  his  cheerful  voice,  she  perceived  that 
he  had  the  gift  of  expressing  himself  clearly  and  forcibly 
and  withal  modestly;  nor  did  it  escape  her  that  the  other 

140 


WHAT  MIGHT  HAVE  BEEN 


141 


two  men  were  listening  with  a certain  deference.  In  her 
sensitive  state  she  tried  to  evade  the  contrast  thus  suddenly 
presented  to  her  between  Peter  and  the  man  she  had 
promised,  that  very  morning,  /to  marry. 

Howard  Spence  was  seated  on  the  table,  smoking  a 
cigarette.  Never,  it  seemed,  had  he  more  distinctly 
typified  to  her  Prosperity.  An  attribute  which  she  had 
admired  in  him,  of  strife  without  the  appearance  of  strife, 
lost  something  of  its  value.  To  look  at  Peter  was  to 
wonder  whether  there  could  be  such  a thing  as  a well- 
groomed  combatant ; and  until  to-day  she  had  never 
thought  of  Peter  as  a combatant.  The  sight  of  his  lean 
face  summoned,  all  undesired,  the  vague  vision  of  an  ideal, 
and  perhaps  it  was  this  that  caused  her  voice  to  falter  a 
little  as  she  came  forward  and  called  his  name.  He  rose 
precipitately. 

44  What  a surprise,  Peter  ! ” she  said,  as  she  took  his 
hand.  44  How  do  you  happen  to  be  in  the  East  ? ” 

44  An  errand  boy,”  he  replied.  44  Somebody  had  to  come, 
so  they  chose  me.  Incidentally,”  he  added,  smiling  down 
at  her,  44  it  is  a part  of  my  education.” 

44  We  thought  you  were  lost,”  said  Howard  Spence, 
significantly. 

44  Oh,  no,”  she  an.swered  lightly,  evading  his  look.  44 1 
was  on  the  bench  at  the  edge  of  the  wood.”  She  turned 
again  to  Peter.  44  How  good  of  you  to  come  up  and  see 
me  ! ” 

44 1 couldn’t  have  resisted  that,”  he  declared,  44  if  it 
were  only  for  an  hour.” 

44  I’ve  been  trying  to  persuade  him  to  stay  a while  with 
us,”  Joshua  put  in  with  unusual  graciousness.  44  My 
mother  will  be  disappointed  not  to  see  you.” 

44  There  is  nothing  I should  like  better,  Mr.  Holt,”  said 
Peter,  simply,  gazing  off  across  the  lawn.  44  Unfortunately 
I have  to  leave  for  the  West  to-night.” 

44  Before  you  go,”  said  Honora,  44  you  must  see  this 
wonderful  place.  Come,  we’ll  begin  with  the  garden.” 
She  had  a desire  now  to  take  him  away  bv  himself, 
something  she  had  wished,  an  hour  ago,  to  avoid. 


142 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


“Wouldn’t  you  like  a runabout?”  suggested  Joshua, 
hospitably. 

Honora  thanked  him. 

“ I’m  sure  Mr.  Erwin  would  rather  walk,”  she  replied. 
“ Come,  Peter,  you  must  tell  me  all  the  news  of  home.” 
Spence  accepted  his  dismissal  with  a fairly  good  grace, 
and  gave  no  evidence  of  jealousy.  He  put  his  hand  on 
Peter’s  shoulder. 

“If  you’re  ever  in  New  York,  Erwin,”  said  he,  “look 
me  up — Dallam  and  Spence.  We’re  members  of  the  Ex- 
change, so  you  won’t  have  any  trouble  in  finding  us.  I’d 
like  to  talk  to  you  sometime  about  the  West.” 

Peter  thanked  him. 

For  a little  while,  as  they  went  down  the  driveway  side 
by  side,  he  was  meditatively  silent.  She  wondered  what 
he  thought  of  Howard  Spence,  until  suddenly  she  remem- 
bered that  her  secret  was  still  her  own,  that  Peter  had  as 
yet  no  particular  reason  to  single  out  Mr.  Spence  for  espe- 
cial consideration.  She  could  not,  however,  resist  saying,  — 
“ New  Yorkers  are  like  that.” 

“Like  what  ?”  he  asked. 

She  coloured. 

“ Like  — Mr.  Spence.  A little  — self-assertive,  sure 
of  themselves.”  She  strove  to  keep  out  of  her  voice  any 
suspicion  of  the  agitation  which  was  the  result  of  the 
events  of  an  extraordinary  day,  not  yet  ended.  She 
knew  that  it  would  have  been  wiser  not  to  have  men- 
tioned Howard ; but  Peter’s  silence,  somehow,  had  impelled 
her  to  speak.  “ He  has  made  quite  an  unusual  success 
for  so  young  a man.” 

Peter  looked  at  her  and  shook  his  head. 

“New  York  — success!  What  is  to  become  of  poor 
old  St.  Louis  ? ” he  inquired. 

“ Oh,  I’m  going  back  next  week,”  Honora  cried.  “ I 
wish  I were  going  with  you.” 

“ And  leave  all  this,”  he  said  incredulously,  “ for  trol- 
ley rides  and  Forest  Park  and  — and  me  ? ” 

He  stopped  in  the  garden  path  and  looked  upon  the 
picture  she  made  standing  in  the  sunlight  against  the 


WHAT  MIGHT  HAVE  BEEN 


143 


blazing  borders,  her  wide  hat  casting  a shadow  on  her 
face.  And  the  smile  which  she  had  known  so  well  since 
childhood,  indulgent,  quizzical,  with  a touch  of  sadness, 
was  in  his  eyes.  She  was  conscious  of  a slight  resent- 
ment. Was  there,  in  fact,  no  change  in  her  as  the  result 
of  the  events  of  those  momentous  ten  months  since  she 
had  seen  him?  And  rather  than  a tolerance  in  which 
there  was  neither  antagonism  nor  envy,  she  would  have 
preferred  from  Peter  an  open  disapproval  of  luxury,  of 
the  standards  which  he  implied  were  hers.  She  felt  that 
she  had  stepped  into  another  world,  but  he  refused  to  be 
dazzled  by  it.  He  insisted  upon  treating  her  as  the  same 
Honora. 

44  How  did  you  leave  Uncle  Tom  and  Aunt  Mary  ? ” she 
asked. 

They  were  counting  the  days,  he  said,  until  she  should 
return,  but  they  did  not  wish  to  curtail  her  visit.  They 
did  not  expect  her  next  week,  he  knew. 

Honora  coloured  again. 

44 1 feel  — that  I ought  to  go  to  them,”  she  said. 

He  glanced  at  her  as  though  her  determination  to  leave 
Silverdale  so  soon  surprised  him. 

“They  will  be  very  happy  to  see  you,  Honora,”  he 
said.  44  They  have  been  very  lonesome.” 

She  softened.  Some  unaccountable  impulse  prompted 
her  to  ask  : — 

44  And  you  ? Have  you  missed  me  — a little  ? ” 

He  did  not  answer,  and  she  saw  that  he  was  profoundly 
affected.  She  laid  a hand  upon  his  arm. 

44  Oh,  Peter,  I didn’t  mean  that,”  she  cried.  44 1 know 
you  have.  And  I have  missed  you  — terribly.  It  seems 
so  strange  seeing  you  here,”  she  went  on  hurriedly. 
44  There  are  so  many  things  I want  to  show  you.  Tell 
me  how  it  happened  that  you  came  on  to  New  York.” 

44  Somebody  in  the  firm  had  to  come,”  he  said. 

44  In  the  firm  ! ” she  repeated.  She  did  not  grasp  the 
full  meaning  of  this  change  in  his  status,  but  she  remem- 
bered that  Uncle  Tom  had  predicted  it  one  day,  and  that 
it  was  an  honour.  44 1 never  knew  any  one  so  secretive 


144 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


about  their  own  affairs  ! Why  didn’t  you  write  me  you 
had  been  admitted  to  the  firm  ? So  you  are  a partner  of 
Judge  Brice.” 

44  Brice,  Graves,  and  Erwin,”  said  Peter ; 44  it  sounds 
very  grand,  doesn’t  it  ? I can’t  get  used  to  it  myself.” 

44 And  what  made  you  call  yourself  an  errand  boy?” 
she  exclaimed  reproachfully.  44  When  I go  back  to  the 
house  I intend  to  tell  Joshua  Holt  and  — and  Mr.  Spence 
that  you  are  a great  lawyer.” 

Peter  laughed. 

44  You’d  better  wait  a few  years  before  you  say  that,” 
said  he. 

He  took  an  interest  in  everything  he  saw,  in  Mr.  Holt’s 
flowers,  in  Joshua’s  cow  barn,  which  they  traversed,  and 
declared,  if  he  were  ever  rich  enough,  he  would  live  in 
the  country.  They  walked  around  the  pond,  — fringed 
now  with  yellow  water-lilies  on  their  floating  green  pads, 
— through  the  woods,  and  when  the  shadows  were  length- 
ening came  out  at  the  little  summer-house  over  the  valley 
of  Silver  Brook  — the  scene  of  that  first  memorable  en- 
counter with  the  Vicomte.  At  the  sight  of  it  the  episode, 
and  much  else  of  recent  happening,  rushed  back  into 
Honora’s  mind,  and  she  realized  with  suddenness  that  she 
had,  in  his  companionship,  unconsciously  been  led  far  afield 
and  in  pleasant  places.  Comparisons  seemed  inevitable. 

She  watched  him  with  an  unwonted  tugging  at  her 
heart  as  he  stood  for  a long  time  by  the  edge  of  the  rail- 
ing, gazing  over  the  tree-tops  of  the  valley  towards  the 
distant  hazy  hills.  Nor  did  she  understand  what  it  was 
in  him  that  now,  on  this  day  of  days  when  she  had  defi- 
nitely cast  the  die  of  life,  when  she  had  chosen  her  path, 
aroused  this  strange  emotion.  Why  had  she  never  felt 
it  before?  She  had  thought  his  face  homely  — now  it 
seemed  to  shine  with  a transfiguring  light.  She  recalled, 
with  a pang,  that  she  had  criticised  his  clothes:  to-day 
they  seemed  the  expression  of  the  man  himself.  Incredi- 
ble is  the  range  of  human  emotion!  She  felt  a longing  to 
throw  herself  into  his  arms,  and  to  weep  there. 

He  turned  at  length  from  the  view. 


WHAT  MIGHT  HAVE  BEEN 


145 


“ How  wonderful  ! ” he  said. 

“I  didn’t  know  — you  cared  for  nature  so  much,  Peter.” 
He  looked  at  her  strangely  and  put  out  his  hand  and 
drew  her,  unresisting,  to  the  bench  beside  him. 

“ Are  you  in  trouble,  Honora  ? ” he  asked. 

“ Oh,  no,”  she  cried,  “ oh,  no,  I am  — very  happy.” 

“ You  may  have  thought  it  odd  that  I should  have  come 
here  without  knowing  Mrs.  Holt,”  he  said  gravely,  “ par- 
ticularly when  you  were  going  home  so  soon.  I do  not 
know  myself  why  I came.  I am  a matter-of-fact  person, 
but  I acted  on  an  impulse.” 

“An  impulse!”  she  faltered,  avoiding  the  troubled, 
searching  look  in  his  eyes. 

“Yes,”  he  said,  “an  impulse.  I can  call  it  by  no  other 
name.  I should  have  taken  a train  that  leaves  New  York 
at  noon;  but  I had  a feeling  this  morning,  which  seemed 
almost  like  a presentiment,  that  I might  be  of  some  use 
to  you.” 

“ This  morning  ? ” She  felt  herself  trembling,  and  she 
scarcely  recognized  Peter  with  such  words  on  his  lips. 
“ I am  happy  — indeed  I am.  Only  — I am  overwrought 
— seeing  you  again  — and  you  made  me  think  of  home.” 
“It  was  no  doubt  very  foolish  of  me,”  he  declared. 
“ And  if  my  coming  has  upset  you  — ” 

“ Oh,  no,”  she  cried.  “ Please  don’t  think  so.  It  has 
given  me  a sense  of  — of  security.  That  you  were  ready 
to  help  me  if  — if  I needed  you.” 

“You  should  always  have  known  that,”  he  replied. 
He  rose  and  stood  gazing  off  down  the  valley  once  more, 
and  she  watched  him  with  her  heart  beating,  with  a sense 
of  an  impending  crisis  which  she  seemed  powerless  to  stave 
off.  And  presently  he  turned  to  her,  “ Honora,  I have 
loved  you  for  many  years,”  he  said.  “You  were  too 
young  for  me  to  speak  of  it.  I did  not  intend  to  speak 
of  it  when  I came  here  to-day.  For  many  years  I have 
hoped  that  some  day  you  might  be  my  wife.  My  one 
fear  has  been  that  I might  lose  you.  Perhaps  — perhaps 
it  has  been  a dream.  But  I am  willing  to  wait,  should 
you  wish  to  see  more  of  the  world.  You  are  young  yet, 


146 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


and  I am  offering  myself  for  all  time.  There  is  no  other 
woman  for  me,  and  never  can  be.” 

He  paused  and  smiled  down  at  her.  But  she  did  not 
speak.  She  could  not. 

44  I know,”  he  went  on,  44  that  you  are  ambitious.  And 
with  your  gifts  I do  not  blame  you.  I cannot  offer  you 
great  wealth,  but  I say  with  confidence  that  I can  offer 
you  something  better,  something  surer.  I can  take  care 
of  you  and  protect  you,  and  I will  devote  my  life  to  your 
happiness.  Will  you  marry  me  ? ” 

Her  eyes  were  sparkling  with  tears,  — tears,  he  remem- 
bered afterwards,  that  were  like  blue  diamonds. 

44  Oh,  Peter,”  she  cried,  44 1 wish  I could  ! I have  always 
— wished  that  I could.  I can’t.” 

44  You  can’t  ? ” 

She  shook  her  head. 

44 1 — I have  told  no  one  yet  — not  even  Aunt  Mary. 
I am  going  to  marry  Mr.  Spence.” 

For  a long  time  he  was  silent,  and  she  did  not  dare  to 
look  at  the  suffering  in  his  face. 

“Honora,”  he  said  at  last,  44  my  most  earnest  wish  in 
life  will  be  for  your  happiness.  And  whatever  may  come 
to  you  I hope  that  you  will  remember  that  I am  your 
friend,  to  be  counted  on.  And  that  I shall  not  change. 
Will  you  remember  that  ? ” 

44Yes,”  she  whispered.  She  looked  at  him  now,  and 
through  the  veil  of  her  tears  she  seemed  to  see  his  soul 
shining  in  his  eyes.  The  tones  of  a distant  church  bell 
were  borne  to  them  on  the  valley  breeze. 

Peter  glanced  at  his  watch. 

44 1 am  afraid,”  he  said,  44  that  I haven’t  time  to  go  back 
to  the  house  — my  train  goes  at  seven.  Can  I get  down 
to  the  village  through  the  valley  ? ” 

Honora  pointed  out  the  road,  faintly  perceptible  through 
the  trees  beneath  them. 

44  And  you  will  apologize  for  my — departure  to  Mrs. 
Holt?” 

She  nodded.  He  took  her  hand,  pressed  it,  and  was 
gone.  And  presently,  in  a little  clearing  far  below,  he 
turned  and  waved  his  hat  at  her  bravely. 


CHAPTER  XII 


WHICH  CONTAINS  A SUBPRISE  FOR  MRS.  HOLT 

How  long  she  sat  gazing  with  unseeing  eyes  down  the 
valley  Honora  did  not  know.  Distant  mutterings  of 
thunder  aroused  her  ; the  evening  sky  had  darkened,  and 
angry-looking  clouds  of  purple  were  gathering  over  the 
hills.  She  rose  and  hurried  homeward.  She  had  thought 
to  enter  by  the  billiard-room  door,  and  so  gain  her  own 
chamber  without  encountering  the  household  ; but  she 
had  reckoned  without  her  hostess.  Beyond  the  billiard 
room,  in  the  little  entry  filled  with  potted  plants,  she 
came  face  to  face  with  that  lady,  who  was  inciting  a foot- 
man to  further  efforts  in  his  attempt  to  close  a recalcitrant 
skylight.  Honora  proved  of  more  interest,  and  Mrs.  Holt 
abandoned  the  skylight. 

44  Why,  my  dear,”  she  said,  “ where  have  you  been  all 
afternoon  ? ” 

44 1 — I have  been  walking  with  Mr.  Erwin,  Mrs.  Holt. 
I have  been  showing  him  Silverdale.” 

44  And  where  is  he  ? It  seems  to  me  I invited  him  to 
stay  all  night,  and  Joshua  tells  me  he  extended  the 
invitation.” 

44  We  were  in  the  little  summer-house,  and  suddenly  he 
discovered  that  it  was  late  and  he  had  to  catch  the  seven 
o’clock  train,”  faltered  Honora,  somewhat  disconnectedly. 
44  Otherwise  he  would  have  come  to  you  himself  and  told 
you  — how  much  he  regretted  not  staying.  He  has  to  go 
to  St.  Louis  to-night.” 

44  Well, ’’  said  Mrs.  Holt,  44  this  is  an  afternoon  of  sur- 
prises. The  Vicomte  has  gone  off,  too,  without  even 
waiting  to  say  good-by.” 


147 


148 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


44  The  Vicomte  ! ” exclaimed  Honora. 

44  Didn’t  you  see  him,  either,  before  he  left  ? ” inquired 
Mrs.  Holt ; “ I thought  perhaps  you  might  be  able  to  give 
me  some  further  explanation  of  it.” 

44  I ? ” exclaimed  Honora.  She  felt  ready  to  sink 
through  the  floor,  and  Mrs.  Holt’s  delft-blue  eyes  haunted 
her  afterwards  like  a nightmare. 

44  Didn’t  you  see  him,  my  dear  ? Didn’t  he  tell  you 
anything  ? ” 

44  He  — he  didn’t  say  he  was  going  away.” 

44  Did  he  seem  disturbed  about  anything  ? ” Mrs.  Holt 
insisted. 

“Now  I think  of  it,  he  did  seem  a little  disturbed.” 

44  To  save  my  life,”  said  Mrs.  Holt, 44 1 can’t  understand 
it.  He  left  a note  for  me  saying  that  he  had  received  a 
telegram,  and  that  he  had  to  go  at  once.  I was  at  a meet- 
ing of  my  charity  board.  It  seems  a very  strange  pro- 
ceeding for  such  an  agreeable  and  polite  man  as  the 
Vicomte,  although  he  had  his  drawbacks,  as  all  Conti- 
nentals have.  And  at  times  I thought  he  was  grave  and 
moody,  — ■ didn’t  you  ? ” 

44  Oh,  yes,  he  was  moody,”  Honora  agreed  eagerly. 

44  You  noticed  it,  too,”  said  Mrs.  Holt.  44  But  he  was  a 
charming  man,  and  so  interested  in  America  and  in  the 
work  we  are  doing.  But  I can’t  understand  about  the 
telegram.  I had  Carroll  inquire  of  every  servant  in  the 
house,  and  there  is  no  knowledge  of  a telegram  having 
come  up  from  the  village  this  afternoon.” 

44  Perhaps  the  Vicomte  might  have  met  the  messenger 
in  the  grounds,”  hazarded  Honora. 

At  this  point  their  attention  was  distracted  by  a noise 
that  bore  a striking  resemblance  to  a suppressed  laugh. 
The  footman  on  the  step-ladder  began  to  rattle  the  sky- 
light vigorously. 

44 What  on  earth  is  the  matter  with  you,  Woods?” 
said  Mrs.  Holt. 

44  It  must  have  been  some  dust  off  the  skylight,  Madam, 
that  got  into  my  throat,”  he  stammered,  the  colour  of  a 
geranium. 


A SURPRISE  FOR  MRS.  HOLT 


149 


44  Nonsense,”  said  Mrs.  Holt,  44  there  is  no  dust  on  the 
skylight.” 

44  It  may  be  I swallowed  the  wrong  way,  looking  up  like, 
as  I was,  Madam,”  he  ventured,  rubbing  the  frame  and 
looking  at  his  finger  to  prove  his  former  theory. 

44  Y ou  are  very  stupid  not  to  be  able  to  close  it,”  she 
declared ; 44  in  a few  minutes  the  place  will  be  flooded. 
Tell  Carroll  to  come  and  do  it.” 

Honora  suffered  herself  to  be  led  limply  through  the 
library  and  up  the  stairs  into  Mrs.  Holt’s  own  boudoir, 
where  a maid  was  closing  the  windows  against  the  first 
great  drops  of  the  storm,  which  the  wind  was  pelting 
against  them.  She  drew  the  shades  deftly,  lighted  the 
gas,  and  retired.  Honora  sank  down  in  one  of  the 
upholstered  light  blue  satin  chairs  and  gazed  at  the  shin- 
ing brass  of  the  coal  grate  set  in  the  marble  mantel,  above 
which  hung  an  engravingof  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds’ cherubs. 
She  had  an  instinct  that  the  climax  of  the  drama  was  at 
hand. 

Mrs.  Holt  sat  down  in  the  chair  opposite. 

44  My  dear,”  she  began,  44 1 told  you  the  other  day  what 
an  unexpected  and  welcome  comfort  and  help  you  have 
been  to  me.  You  evidently  inherit  ” (Mrs.  Holt  coughed 
slightly)  44  the  art  of  entertaining  and  pleasing,  and  I 
need  not  warn  you,  my  dear,  against  the  dangers  of  such  a 
gift.  Your  aunt  has  evidently  brought  you  up  with  strict- 
ness and  religious  care.  You  have  been  very  fortunate.” 

44  Indeed  I have,  Mrs.  Holt,”  echoed  Honora,  in  bewilder- 
ment. 

44  And  Susan,”  continued  Mrs.  Holt,  44  useful  and  will- 
ing as  she  is,  does  not  possess  your  gift  of  taking  people 
off  my  hands  and  entertaining  them.” 

Honora  could  think  of  no  reply  to  this.  Her  eyes 
— to  which  no  one  could  be  indifferent  — were  riveted 
on  the  face  of  her  hostess,  and  how  was  the  good  lady  to 
guess  that  her  brain  was  reeling  ? 

44 1 was  about  to  say,  my  dear,  that  I expect  to  have 
a great  deal  of — well,  of  rather  difficult  company  this 
summer.  Next  week,  for  instance,  some  prominent 


150 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


women  in  the  Working  Girls’  Relief  Society  are  coming, 
and  on  July  the  twenty-third  I give  a garden  party  for 
the  delegates  to  the  Charity  Conference  in  New  York. 
The  Japanese  Minister  has  promised  to  pay  me  a visit, 
and  Sir  Rupert  Grant,  who  built  those  remarkable  tuber- 
culosis homes  in  England,  you  know,  is  arriving  in 
August  with  his  family.  Then  there  are  some  foreign 
artists.” 

“ Oh,  Mrs.  Holt,”  exclaimed  Honora  ; “ how  many  in- 
teresting people  you  see  ! ” 

“ Exactly,  my  dear.  And  I thought  that,  in  addition  to 
the  fact  that  I have  grown  very  fond  of  you,  you  would 
be  very  useful  to  me  here,  and  that  a summer  with  me 
might  not  be  without  its  advantages.  As  your  aunt  will 
have  you  until  you  are  married,  which,  I may  say,  without 
denying  your  attractions,  is  likely  to  be  for  some  time,  I 
intend  to  write  to  her  to-night  — with  your  consent  — and 
ask  her  to  allow  you  to  remain  with  me  all  summer.” 

Honora  sat  transfixed,  staring  painfully  at  the  big  pen- 
dant ear-rings. 

“ It  is  so  kind  of  you,  Mrs.  Holt  — ” she  faltered. 

“ I can  realize,  my  dear,  that  you  would  wish  to  get 
back  to  your  aunt.  The  feeling  does  you  infinite  credit. 
But,  on  the  other  hand,  besides  the  advantages  which 
would  accrue  to  you,  it  might,  to  put  the  matter  delicately, 
be  of  a little  benefit  to  your  relations,  who  will  have  to 
think  of  your  future.” 

“ Indeed,  it  is  good  of  you,  but  I must  go  back,  Mrs. 
Holt.” 

“ Of  course,”  said  Mrs.  Holt,  with  a touch  of  dignity  — 
for  ere  now  people  had  left  Silverdale  before  she  wished 
them  to  — • “ of  course,  if  you  do  not  care  to  stay,  that  is 
quite  another  thing.” 

“ Oh,  Mrs.  Holt,  don’t  say  that  ! ” cried  Honora,  her 
face  burning  ; “ I cannot  thank  you  enough  for  the  pleasure 
you  have  given  me.  If  — if  things  were  different,  I would 
stay  with  you  gladly,  although  I should  miss  my  family. 
But  now,  — now  I feel  that  I must  be  with  them.  I — I 
am  engaged  to  be  married.” 


A SURPRISE  FOR  MRS.  HOLT 


151 


Hon  ora  still  remembers  the  blank  expression  which 
appeared  on  the  countenance  of  her  hostess  when  she  spoke 
these  words.  Mrs.  Holt’s  cheeks  twitched,  her  ear-rings 
quivered,  and  her  bosom  heaved  — once. 

“ Engaged  to  be  married  ! ” she  gasped. 

“ Yes,”  replied  our  heroine,  humbly,  “ I was  going  to 
tell  you  — to-morrow.” 

“I  suppose,”  said  Mrs.  Holt,  after  a silence,  “it  is  to 
the  young  man  who  was  here  this  afternoon,  and  whom  I 
did  not  see.  It  accounts  for  his  precipitate  departure. 
But  I must  say,  Honora,  since  frankness  is  one  of  my 
faults,  that  I feel  it  my  duty  to  write  to  your  aunt  and 
disclaim  all  responsibility.” 

“ It  is  not  to  Mr.  Erwin,”  said  Honora,  meekly;  “ it  is 
— it  is  to  Mr.  Spence.” 

Mrs.  Holt  seemed  to  find  difficulty  in  speaking,  Her 
former  symptoms,  which  Honora  had  come  to  recognize  as 
indicative  of  agitation,  returned  with  alarming  intensity. 
And  when  at  length  her  voice  made  itself  heard,  it  was 
scarcely  recognizable. 

“ You  are  engaged  — to  — Howard  Spence  ? ” 

“ Oh,  Mrs.  Holt,”  exclaimed  Honora,  “ it  was  as  great 
a surprise  to  me — believe  me  — as  it  is  to  you.” 

But  even  the  knowledge  that  they  shared  a common 
amazement  did  not  appear,  at  once,  to  assuage  Mrs.  Holt’s 
emotions. 

“ Do  you  love  him  ? ” she  demanded  abruptly. 

Whereupon  Honora  burst  into  tears. 

“ Oh,  Mrs.  Holt,”  she  sobbed,  “ how  can  you  ask  ? ” 

From  this  time  on  the  course  of  events  was  not  pre- 
cisely logical.  Mrs.  Holt,  setting  in  abeyance  any  ideas 
she  may  have  had  about  the  affair,  took  Honora  in  her 
arms,  and  against  that  ample  bosom  was  sobbed  out  the 
pent-up  excitement  and  emotion  of  an  extraordinary  day. 

“There,  there,  my  dear,”  said  Mrs.  Holt,  stroking  the 
dark  hair,  “I  should  not  have  asked  you  that  — forgive 
me.”  And  the  worthy  lady,  quivering  with  sympathy 
now,  remembered  the  time  of  her  own  engagement  to 
Joshua.  And  the  fact  that  the  circumstances  of  that 


152 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


event  differed  somewhat  from  those  of  the  present  — in 
regularity,  at  least,  increased  rather  than  detracted  from 
Mrs.  Holt’s  sudden  access  of  tenderness.  The  perplexing 
questions  as  to  the  probable  result  of  such  a marriage  were 
swept  away  by  a flood  of  feeling.  “ There,  there,  my 
dear,  I did  not  mean  to  be  harsh.  What  you  told  me  was 
such  a shock  — such  a surprise,  and  marriage  is  such  a 
grave  and  sacred  thing.” 

“ I know  it,”  sobbed  Honora. 

“ And  you  are  very  young.” 

“ Yes,  Mrs.  Holt.” 

“ And  it  happened  in  my  house.” 

“No,”  said  Honora,  “it  happened  — near  the  golf 
course.” 

Mrs.  Holt  smiled,  and  wiped  her  eyes. 

“ I mean,  my  dear,  that  I shall  always  feel  responsible 
for  bringing  you  together  — for  your  future  happiness. 
That  is  a great  deal.  I could  have  wished  that  you  both 
had  taken  longer  to  reflect,  but  I hope  with  all  my  heart 
that  you  will  be  happy.” 

Honora  lifted  up  a tear-stained  face. 

“ He  said  it  was  because  I was  going  away  that  — that 
he  spoke,”  she  said.  “ Oh,  Mrs.  Holt,  I knew  that  you 
would  be  kind  about  it.” 

“ Of  course  I am  kind  about  it,  my  dear,”  said  Mrs. 
Holt.  “ As  I told  you,  I have  grown  to  have  an  affection 
for  you.  I feel  a little  as  though  you  belonged  to  me. 
And  after  this  — this  event,  I expect  to  see  a great  deal  of 
you.  Howard  Spence’s  mother  was  a very  dear  friend  of 
mine.  I was  one  of  the  first  who  knew  her  when  she 
came  to  New  York,  from  Troy,  a widow,  to  educate  her 
son.  She  was  a very  fine  and  a very  courageous  woman.” 
Mrs.  Holt  paused  a moment.  “ She  hoped  that  Howard 
would  be  a lawyer.” 

“A  lawyer!  ” Honora  repeated. 

“ I lost  sight  of  him  for  several  years,”  continued 
Mrs.  Holt,  “ but  before  I invited  him  here  I made  some 
inquiries  about  him  from  friends  of  mine  in  the  financial 
world.  I find  that  he  is  successful  for  so  young  a man, 


A SURPRISE  FOR  MRS.  HOLT 


153 


and  well  thought  of.  I have  no  doubt  he  will  make 
a good  husband,  my  dear,  although  I could  wish  he  were 
not  on  the  Stock  Exchange.  And  I hope  you  will  make 
him  happy.” 

Whereupon  the  good  lady  kissed  Honora,  and  dismissed 
her  to  dress  for  dinner. 

44 1 shall  write  to  your  aunt  at  once,”  she  said. 


Requited  love,  unsettled  condition  that  it  is  supposed 
to  bring,  did  not  interfere  with  Howard  Spence’s  appetite 
at  dinner.  His  spirits,  as  usual,  were  of  the  best,  and 
from  time  to  time  Honora  was  aware  of  his  glance.  Then 
she  lowered  her  eyes.  She  sat  as  in  a dream ; and,  try  as 
she  might,  her  thoughts  would  not  range  themselves.  She 
seemed  to  see  him  but  dimly,  to  hear  what  he  said  faintly; 
and  it  conveyed  nothing  to  her  mind. 

This  man  was  to  be  her  husband ! Over  and  over  she  re- 
peated it  to  herself.  His  name  was  Howard  Spence,  and 
he  was  on  the  highroad  to  riches  and  success,  and  she 
was  to  live  in  New  York.  Ten  days  before  he  had  not 
existed  for  her.  She  could  not  bring  herself  to  believe 
that  he  existed  now.  Did  she  love  him  ? How  could  she 
love  him,  when  she  did  not  realize  him  ? One  thing  she 
knew,  that  she  had  loved  him  that  morning. 

The  fetters  of  her  past  life  were  broken,  and  this  she 
would  not  realize.  She  had  opened  the  door  of  the  cage  — 
for  what  ? These  were  the  fragments  of  thoughts  that 
drifted  through  her  mind  like  tattered  clouds  across  an 
empty  sky  after  a storm.  Peter  Erwin  appeared  to  her 
more  than  once,  and  he  was  strangely  real.  But  he  be- 
longed to  the  past.  Course  succeeded  course,  and  she 
talked  subconsciously  to  Mr.  Holt  and  Joshua  — such  is 
the  result  of  feminine  training. 

After  dinner  she  stood  on  the  porch.  The  rain  had 
ceased,  a cool  damp  breeze  shook  the  drops  from  the 
leaves,  and  the  stars  were  shining.  Presently,  at  the 
sound  of  a step  behind  her,  she  started.  He  was  standing 
at  her  shoulder. 


154 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


“ Honora  !”  he  said. 

She  did  not  move. 

“ Honora,  I haven’t  seen  you  — alone  — since  morning. 
It  seems  like  a thousand  years.  Honora  ? ” 

“Yes.” 

“ Did  you  mean  it  ? 

“Did  I mean  what  ? ” 

“ When  you  said  you’d  marry  me.”  His  voice  trembled 
a little.  “ I’ve  been  thinking  of  nothing  but  you  all  day. 
You’re  not  — sorry  ? You  haven’t  changed  your  mind  ? ” 

She  shook  her  head. 

“At  dinner  when  you  wouldn’t  look  at  me,  and  this 
afternoon  — ” 

“ No,  I’m  not  sorry,”  she  said,  cutting  him  short.  “ I’m 
not  sorry.” 

He  put  his  arm  about  her  with  an  air  that  was  almost 
apologetic.  And,  seeing  that  she  did  not  resist,  he  drew 
her  to  him  and  kissed  her.  Suddenly,  unaccountably  to 
her,  she  clung  to  him. 

“You  love  me  ! ” he  exclaimed. 

“Yes,”  she  whispered,  “but  I am  tired.  I — I am 
going  upstairs,  Howard.  I am  tired.” 

He  kissed  her  again. 

“ I can’t  believe  it  ! ” he  said.  “ I’ll  make  you  a queen. 
And  we’ll  be  married  in  the  autumn,  Honora.”  He 
nodded  boyishly  towards  the  open  windows  of  the  library. 
“Shall  I tell  them  ? ” he  asked.  “ I feel  like  shouting  it. 
I can’t  hold  on  much  longer.  I wonder  what  the  old 
lady  will  say  ! ” 

Honora  disengaged  herself  from  his  arms  and  fled  to  the 
screen  door.  As  she  opened  it,  she  turned  and  smiled  back 
at  him. 

“ Mrs.  Holt  knows  already,”  she  said. 

And  catching  her  skirt,’ she  flew  quickly  up  the  stairs. 


BOOK  II 


CHAPTER  I 

SO  LONG  AS  YE  BOTH  SHALL  LIVE  ! 

It  was  late  November.  And  as  Honora  sat  at  the 
window  of  the  drawing-room  of  the  sleeping  car,  life 
seemed  as  fantastic  and  unreal  as  the  moss-hung  Southern 
forest  into  which  she  stared.  She  was  happy,  as  a child 
is  happy  who  is  taken  on  an  excursion  into  the  unknown. 
The  monotony  of  existence  was  at  last  broken,  and  riven 
the  circumscribing  walls.  Limitless  possibilities  lay  ahead. 

The  emancipation  had  not  been  without  its  pangs  of 
sorrow,  and  there  were  moments  of  retrospection  — as  now. 
She  saw  herself  on  Uncle  Tom’s  arm,  walking  up  the  aisle 
of  the  old  church.  How  many  Sundays  of  her  life  had 
she  sat  watching  a shaft  of  sunlight  strike  across  the  stone 
pillars  of  its  gothic  arches  ! She  saw,  in  the  chancel,  tall 
and  grave  and  pale,  Peter  Erwin  standing  beside  the  man 
with  the  flushed  face  who  was  to  be  her  husband.  She 
heard  again  the  familiar  voice  of  Dr.  Ewing  reciting  the 
words  of  that  wonderful  introduction.  At  other  weddings 
she  had  been  moved  deeply.  Why  was  her  own  so  un- 
realizable ? 

“ Honora , wilt  thou  have  this  man  to  thy  wedded  husband , 
to  live  together  after  G-od's  ordinance  in  the  holy  state  of 
Matrimony  ? Wilt  thou  obey  him , and  serve  him,  love, 
honour,  and  keep  him  in  sickness  and  in  health  ; and,  for- 
saking all  others,  keep  thee  only  unto  him,  so  long  as  ye  both 
shall  live  ? ” 

She  had  promised.  And  they  were  walking  out  of  the 
church,  facing  the  great  rose  window  with  its  blended 

155 


156 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


colours,  and  the  vaults  above  were  ringing  now  with  the 
volume  of  an  immortal  march. 

After  that  an  illogical  series  of  events  and  pictures 
passed  before  her.  She  was  in  a corner  of  the  carriage, 
her  veil  raised,  gazing  at  her  husband,  who  had  kissed  her 
passionately.  He  was  there  beside  her,  looking  extremely 
well  in  his  top  hat  and  frock-coat,  with  a white  flower  in 
his  buttonhole.  He  was  the  representative  of  the  future 
she  had  deliberately  chosen.  And  yet,  by  virtue  of  the 
strange  ceremony  through  which  they  had  passed,  he 
seemed  to  have  changed.  In  her  attempt  to  seize  upon  a 
reality  she  looked  out  of  the  window.  They  were  just 
passing  the  Hanbury  mansion  in  Wayland  Square,  and 
her  eyes  fell  upon  the  playroom  windows  under  the  wide 
cornice ; and  she  wondered  whether  the  doll’s  house  were 
still  in  its  place,  its  mute  inhabitants  waiting  to  be  called 
by  the  names  she  had  given  them,  and  quickened  into 
life  once  more. 

Next  she  recalled  the  arrival  at  the  little  house  that 
had  been  her  home,  summer  and  winter,  for  so  many 
years  of  her  life.  A red  and  white  awning,  stretching  up 
the  length  of  the  walk  which  once  had  run  beside  the  tall 
pear  trees,  gave  it  an  unrecognizable,  gala  air.  Long  had 
it  stood  there,  patient,  unpretentious,  content  that  the 
great  things  should  pass  it  by  ! And  now,  modest  still, 
it  had  been  singled  out  from  amongst  its  neighbours  and 
honoured.  Was  it  honoured  ? It  seemed  to  Honora,  so 
fanciful  this  day,  that  its  unwonted  air  of  festival  was  un- 
natural. Why  should  the  hour  of  departure  from  such  a 
harbour  of  peace  be  celebrated  ? 

She  was  standing  beside  her  husband  in  the  little 
parlour,  while  carriage  doors  slammed  in  the  dusk  out- 
side ; while  one  by  one  — a pageant  of  the  past  which  she 
was  leaving  forever  — the  friends  of  her  childhood  came 
and  went.  Laughter  and  tears  and  kisses  ! And  then, 
in  no  time  at  all,  she  found  herself  changing  for  the 
journey  in  the  “ little  house  under  the  hill.”  There, 
locked  up  in  the  little  desk  Cousin  Eleanor  had  given  her 
long  ago,  was  the  unfinished  manuscript  of  that  novel  — 


SO  LONG  AS  YE  BOTH  SHALL  LIVE  157 


written  at  fever  heat  during  those  summer  days  in  which 
she  had  sought  to  escape  from  a humdrum  existence.  And 
now  — she  had  escaped.  Aunt  Mary,  helpful  under  the 
most  trying  circumstances,  was  putting  her  articles  in  a 
bag,  the  initials  on  which  she  did  not  recognize  — H.  L.  S. 
— Honora  Leffingwell  Spence ; while  old  Catherine,  tear- 
ful and  inefficient,  knelt  before  her,  fumbling  at  her  shoes. 
Honora,  bending  over,  took  the  face  of  the  faithful  old 
servant  and  kissed  it. 

“ Don’t  feel  badly,  Catherine,”  she  said;  44  I’ll  be  coming 
back  often  to  see  you,  and  you  will  be  coming  to  see  me.” 

44  Will  ye,  darlint?  The  blessing  of  God  be  on  you 
for  those  words  — and  you  to  be  such  a fine  lady  ! It 
always  was  a fine  lady  ye  were,  with  such  a family  and 
such  a bringin’  up.  And  now  ye’ve  married  a rich  man, 
as  is  right  and  proper.  If  it’s  rich  as  Croesus  he  was, 
he’d  be  none  too  good  for  you.” 

44  Catherine,”  said  Aunt  Mary,  reprovingly,  44  what 
ideas  you  put  into  the  child’s  head  ! ” 

44  Sure,  Miss  Mary,”  cried  Catherine,  44  it’s  always  the 
great  lady  she  was,  and  she  a wee  bit  of  a thing.  And 
wasn’t  it  yerself,  Miss  Mary,  that  dressed  her  like  a 
princess  ? ” 

Then  came  the  good-bys  — the  real  ones.  Uncle  Tom, 
always  the  friend  of  young  people,  was  surrounded  by  a 
group  of  bridesmaids  in  the  hall.  She  clung  to  him. 
And  Peter,  who  had  the  carriage  ready.  What  would  her 
wedding  have  been  without  Peter  ? As  they  drove  towards 
the  station,  his  was  the  image  that  remained  persistently 
in  her  mind,  bareheaded  on  the  sidewalk  in  the  light  of 
the  carriage  lamps.  The  image  of  struggle. 

She  had  married  Prosperity.  A whimsical  question, 
that  shocked  her,  irresistibly  presented  itself : was  it  not 
Prosperity  that  she  had  promised  to  love,  honour,  and 
obey  ? 

It  must  not  be  thought  that  Honora  was  by  any  means 
discontented  with  her  Prosperity.  He  was  new  — that 
was  all.  Howard  looked  new.  But  she  remembered 
that  he  had  always  looked  new;  such  was  one  of  his 


158 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


greatest  charms.  In  the  long  summer  days  since  she  had 
bade  him  good-by  on  her  way  through  New  York  from 
Silverdale,  Honora  had  constructed  him  : he  was  perpetual 
yet  sophisticated  Youth  ; he  was  Finance  and  Fashion ; 
he  was  Power  in  correctly  cut  clothes.  And  when  he  had 
arrived  in  St.  Louis  to  play  his  part  in  the  wedding  festivi- 
ties, she  had  found  her  swan  a swan  indeed  — he  was  all 
that  she  had  dreamed  of  him.  And  she  had  tingled  with 
pride  as  she  introduced  him  to  her  friends,  or  gazed  at 
him  across  the  flower-laden  table  as  he  sat  beside  Edith 
Hanbury  at  the  bridesmaids’  dinner  in  Wayland  Square. 

The  wedding  ceremony  had  somehow  upset  her  opinion 
of  him,  but  Honora  regarded  this  change  as  temporary. 
Julius  Csesar  or  George  Washington  himself  must  have 
been  somewhat  ridiculous  as  bridegrooms  : and  she  had 
the  sense  to  perceive  that  her  own  agitations  as  a bride 
were  partly  responsible.  No  matter  how  much  a young 
girl  may  have  trifled  with  that  electric  force  in  the  male 
sex  known  as  the  grand  passion,  she  shrinks  from  surren- 
dering herself  to  its  dominion.  Honora  shrank.  He  made 
love  to  her  on  the  way  to  the  station,  and  she  was  terri- 
fied. He  actually  forgot  to  smoke  cigarettes.  What  he 
said  was  to  the  effect  that  he  possessed  at  last  the  most 
wonderful  and  beautiful  woman  in  the  world,  and  she  re- 
sented the  implication  of  possession. 

Nevertheless,  in  the  glaring  lights  of  the  station,  her 
courage  and  her  pride  in  him  revived,  and  he  became  again 
a normal  and  a marked  man.  Although  the  sex  may  re- 
sent it,  few  women  are  really  indifferent  to  clothes,  and 
Howard’s  well-fitting  check  suit  had  the  magic  touch  of 
the  metropolis.  His  manner  matched  his  garments.  Ob- 
sequious porters  grasped  his  pig-skin  bag,  and  seized 
Honora’s ; the  man  at  the  gate  inclined  his  head  as  he  ex- 
amined their  tickets,  and  the  Pullman  conductor  himself 
showed  them  their  stateroom,  and  plainly  regarded  them 
as  important  people  far  from  home.  Howard  had  the 
cosmopolitan  air.  He  gave  the  man  a dollar,  and  re- 
marked that  the  New  Orleans  train  was  not  exactly  the 
Chicago  and  New  York  Limited. 


SO  LONG  AS  YE  BOTH  SHALL  LIVE  159 


“Not  by  a long  shot,”  agreed  the  conductor,  as  he  went 
out,  softly  closing  the  door  behind  him. 

Whereupon  the  cosmopolitan  air  dropped  from  Mr. 
Howard  Spence,  not  gracefully,  and  he  became  once  more 
that  superfluous  and  awkward  and  utterly  banal  individual, 
the  husband. 

“ Let’s  go  out  and  walk  on  the  platform  until  the  train 
starts,”  suggested  Honora,  desperately.  “ Oh,  Howard, 
the  shades  are  up  ! I’m  sure  I saw  some  one  looking  in  ! ” 

He  laughed.  But  there  was  a light  in  his  eyes  that 
frightened  her,  and  she  deemed  his  laughter  out  of  place. 
Was  he,  after  all,  an  utterly  different  man  than  what 
she  had  thought  him  ? Still  laughing,  he  held  to  her 
wrist  with  one  hand,  and  with  the  other  pulled  down  the 
shades. 

“ This  is  good  enough  for  me,”  he  said.  “ At  last  — at 
last,”  he  whispered,  “ all  the  red  tape  is  over,  and  I’ve 
got  you  to  myself  ! Do  you  love  me  just  a little, 
Honora  ? ” 

“ Of  course  I do,”  she  faltered,  still  struggling,  her  face 
burning  as  from  a fire. 

“ Then  what’s  the  matter  ? ” he  demanded. 

“I  don’t  know— -I  want  air.  Howard,  please  let  me 
go.  It’s — it’s  so  hot  in  here.  You  must  let  me  go.” 

Her  release,  she  felt  afterwards,  was  due  less  to  a phys- 
ical than  a mental  effort.  She  seemed  suddenly  to  have 
cowed  him,  and  his  resistance  became  enfeebled.  She 
broke  from  him,  and  opened  the  door,  and  reached  the 
cement  platform  and  the  cold  air.  When  he  joined  her, 
there  was  something  jokingly  apologetic  about  his  manner, 
and  he  was  smoking  a cigarette ; and  she  could  not  help 
thinking  that  she  would  have  respected  him  more  if  he 
had  held  her. 

“ Women  beat  me,”  he  said.  “ They’re  the  most  erratic 
stock  in  the  market.” 

It  is  worthy  of  remark  how  soon  the  human,  and  espe- 
cially the  feminine  brain  adjusts  itself  to  new  conditions. 
In  a day  or  two  life  became  real  again,  or  rather  romantic. 


160 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


For  the  American  husband  in  his  proper  place  is  an  auxil- 
iary who  makes  all  things  possible.  His  ability  to  “ get 
things  done,”  before  it  ceases  to  be  a novelty,  is  a quality 
to  be  admired.  Honora  admired.  An  intimacy  — if  the 
word  be  not  too  strong  — sprang  up  between  them.  They 
wandered  through  the  quaint  streets  of  New  Orleans,  that 
most  foreign  of  American  cities,  searching  out  the  tumble- 
down  French  houses ; and  Honora  was  never  tired  of 
imagining  the  romances  and  tragedies  which  must  have 
taken  place  in  them.  The  new  scenes  excited  her,  — the 
quaint  cafes  with  their  delicious,  peppery  Creole  cook- 
ing, — and  she  would  sit  talking  for  a quarter  of  an  hour 
at  a time  with  Alphonse,  who  outdid  himself  to  please 
the  palate  of  a lady  with  such  allure.  He  called  her 
“ Madame  ” ; but  well  he  knew,  this  student  of  human 
kind,  that  the  title  had  not  been  of  long  duration. 

Madame  came  from  New  York,  without  doubt?  such  was 
one  of  his  questions,  as  he  stood  before  them  in  answer  to 
Howard’s  summons,  rubbing  his  hands.  And  Honora, 
with  a little  thrill,  acknowledged  the  accuracy  of  his  guess. 
There  was  no  dish  of  Alphonse’s  they  did  not  taste.  And 
Howard  smilingly  paid  the  bills.  He  was  ecstatically 
proud  of  his  wife,  and  although  he  did  justice  to  the  cook- 
ing, he  cared  but  little  for  the  mysterious  courtyards,  the 
Spanish  buildings,  and  the  novels  of  Mr.  George  W. 
Cable,  which  Honora  devoured  when  she  was  too  tired 
to  walk  about.  He  followed  her  obediently  to  the  battle- 
field of  New  Orleans,  and  admired  as  obediently  the  sun- 
set, when  the  sky  was  all  silver-green  through  the 
magnolias,  and  the  spreading  live  oaks  hung  with  Spanish 
moss,  and  a silver  bar  lay  upon  the  Father  of  Waters. 
Honora,  with  beating  heart  and  flushed  cheeks,  felt  these 
things  : Howard  felt  them  through  her  and  watched  — 
not  the  sunset  — but  the  flame  it  lighted  in  her  eyes. 

He  left  her  but  twice  a day,  and  then  only  for  brief 
periods.  He  even  felt  a joy  when  she  ventured  to  com- 
plain. 

“I  believe  you  care  more  for  those  horrid  stocks  than 
for  me,”  she  said.  “I  — I am  just  a novelty.” 


SO  LONG  AS  YE  BOTH  SHALL  LIVE  161 


His  answer,  since  they  were  alone  in  their  sitting-room, 
was  obvious. 

“Howard,”  she  cried,  “how  mean  of  you  ! Now  I’ll 
have  to  do  my  hair  all  over  again.  I’ve  got  such  a lot  of 
it  — you’ve  no  idea  how  difficult  it  is.” 

“ You  bet  I have  ! ” he  declared  meaningly,  and  Honora 
blushed. 

His  pleasure  of  possession  was  increased  when  people 
turned  to  look  at  her  on  the  street  or  in  the  dining  room 
— to  think  that  this  remarkable  creature  was  in  reality  his 
wife  ! Nor  did  the  feeling  grow  less  intense  with  time, 
being  quite  the  same  when  they  arrived  at  a fashionable 
resort  in  the  Virginia  mountains,  on  their  way  to  New 
York.  For  such  were  the  exactions  of  his  calling  that  he 
could  spare  but  two  weeks  for  his  honeymoon. 

Honora’s  interest  in  her  new  surroundings  was  as  great, 
and  the  sight  of  those  towering  ridges  against  the  soft 
blue  of  the  autumn  skies  inspired  her.  It  was  Indian 
summer  here,  the  tang  of  wood  smoke  was  in  the  air ; in 
the  valleys  — as  they  drove  — the  haze  was  shot  with  the 
dust  of  gold,  and  through  the  gaps  they  looked  across 
vast,  unexplored  valleys  to  other  distant,  blue-stained 
ridges  that  rose  between  them  and  the  sunset.  Honora 
took  an  infinite  delight  in  the  ramshackle  cabins  beside 
the  red-clay  roads,  in  the  historic  atmosphere  of  the 
ancient  houses  and  porticoes  of  the  Warm  Springs,  where 
the  fathers  of  the  Republic  had  come  to  take  the  waters. 
And  one  day,  when  a north  wind  had  scattered  the  smoke 
and  swept  the  sky,  Howard  followed  her  up  the  paths  to 
the  ridge’s  crest,  where  she  stood  like  a Victory,  her  gar- 
ments blowing,  gazing  off  over  the  mighty  billows  to  the 
westward.  Howard  had  never  seen  a Victory,  but  his 
vision  of  domesticity  was  untroubled. 

Although  it  was  late  in  the  season,  the  old-fashioned, 
rambling  hotel  was  well  filled,  and  people  interested 
Honora  as  well  as  scenery — a proof  of  her  human  quali- 
ties. She  chided  Howard  because  he,  too,  was  not  more 
socially  inclined. 

“ How  can  you  expect  me  to  be  — now?  ” he  demanded. 

M 


162 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


She  told  him  he  was  a goose,  although  secretly  admit- 
ting the  justice  of  his  defence.  He  knew  four  or  five  men 
in  the  hotel,  with  whom  he  talked  stocks  while  waiting 
for  Honora  to  complete  her  toilets ; and  he  gathered  from 
two  of  these,  who  were  married,  that  patience  was  a neces- 
sary qualification  in  a husband.  One  evening  they  intro- 
duced their  wives.  Later,  Howard  revealed  their  identity 
— or  rather  that  of  the  husbands. 

“Bowker  is  one  of  the  big  men  in  the  Faith  Insurance 
Company,  and  Tyler  is  president  of  the  Gotham  Trust.” 
He  paused  to  light  a cigarette,  and  smiled  at  her  sig- 
nificantly. 44  If  you  can  jolly  the  ladies  along  once  in  a 
while,  Honora,  it  won’t  do  any  harm,”  he  added.  44  You 
have  a way  with  you,  you  know,  — when  you  want  to.” 

Honora  grew  scarlet. 

44  Howard  ! ” she  exclaimed. 

He  looked  somewhat  shamefaced. 

“Well,”  he  said,  44 1 was  only  joking.  Don’t  take  it 
seriously.  But  it  doesn’t  do  any  harm  to  be  polite.” 

44 1 am  always  polite,”  she  answered  a little  coldly. 

Honeymoons,  after  all,  are  matters  of  conjecture,  and 
what  proportion  of  them  contain  disenchantments  will 
never  be  known.  Honora  lay  awake  for  a long  time  that 
night,  and  the  poignant  and  ever  recurring  remembrance 
of  her  husband’s  remark  sent  the  blood  to  her  face  like 
a flame.  Would  Peter,  or  George  Hanbury,  or  any  of 
the  intimate  friends  of  her  childhood  have  said  such  a 
thing? 

A new  and  wistful  feeling  of  loneliness  was  upon  her. 
For  some  days,  with  a certain  sense  of  isolation  and  a tinge 
of  envy  which  she  would  not  acknowledge,  she  had  been 
watching  a group  of  well-dressed,  clean-looking  people 
galloping  off  on  horseback  or  filling  the  six-seated  buck- 
boards.  They  were  from  New  York  — that  she  had  dis- 
covered ; and  they  did  not  mix  with  the  others  in  the  hotel. 
She  had  thought  it  strange  that  Howard  did  not  know 
them,  but  for  a reason  which  she  did  not  analyze  she  hesi- 
tated to  ask  him  who  they  were.  They  had  rather  a rude 
manner  of  staring  — especially  the  men  — and  the  air  of 


SO  LONG  AS  YE  BOTH  SHALL  LIVE  163 


deriving  infinite  amusement  from  that  which  went  on  about 
them.  One  of  them,  a young  man  with  a lisp  who  was 
addressed  by  the  singular  name  of  “Toots,”  she  had  over- 
heard demanding  as  she  passed : who  the  deuce  was  the 
tall  girl  with  the  dark  hair  and  the  colour?  Wherever 
she  went,  she  was  aware  of  them.  It  was  foolish,  she 
knew,  but  their  presence  seemed  — in  the  magnitude  which 
trifles  are  wont  to  assume  in  the  night-watches  — of  late 
to  have  poisoned  her  pleasure. 

Enlightenment  as  to  the  identity  of  these  disturbing 
persons  came,  the  next  day,  from  an  unexpected  source. 
Indeed,  from  Mrs.  Tyler.  She  loved  brides,  she  said,  and 
Honora  seemed  to  her  such  a sweet  bride.  It  was  Mrs. 
Tyler’s  ambition  to  become  thin  (which  was  hitching  her 
wagon  to  a star  with  a vengeance),  and  she  invited  our 
heroine  to  share  her  constitutional  on  the  porch.  Honora 
found  the  proceeding  in  the  nature  of  an  ordeal,  for  Mrs. 
Tyler’s  legs  were  short,  her  frizzled  hair  very  blond,  and 
the  fact  that  it  was  natural  made  it  seem,  somehow,  all 
the  more  damning. 

They  had  scarcely  begun  to  walk  before  Honora,  with 
a sense  of  dismay  of  which  she  was  ashamed,  beheld  some 
of  the  people  who  had  occupied  her  thoughts  come  out  of 
the  door  and  form  a laughing  group  at  the  end  of  the 
porch.  She  could  not  rid  herself  of  the  feeling  that  they 
were  laughing  at  her.  She  tried  in  vain  to  drive  them 
from  her  mind,  to  listen  to  Mrs.  Tyler’s  account  of  how 
she,  too,  came  as  a bride  to  New  York  from  some  place 
with  a classical  name,  and  to  the  advice  that  accompanied 
the  narration.  The  most  conspicuous  young  woman  in  the 
group,  in  riding  clothes,  was  seated  on  the  railing,  with 
the  toe  of  one  boot  on  the  ground.  Her  profile  was  clear- 
cut  and  her  chestnut  hair  tightly  knotted  behind  under 
her  hat.  Every  time  they  turned,  this  young  woman 
stared  at  Honora  amusedly. 

“Nasty  thing!”  exclaimed  Mrs.  Tyler,  suddenly  and 
unexpectedly  in  the  midst  of  a description  of  the  delights 
of  life  in  the  metropolis. 

“ Who  ? ” asked  Honora. 


164 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


“That  young  Mrs.  Freddy  Maitland,  sitting  on  the  rail. 
She’s  the  rudest  woman  in  New  York.” 


A perversity  of  spirit  which  she  could  not  control 
prompted  Honora  to  reply  : — 

“Why,  I think  she  is  so  good-looking,  Mrs.  Tyler. 
And  she  seems  to  have  so  much  individuality  and  — 
independence.” 

“There!”  cried  Mrs.  Tyler,  triumphantly.  “Once  — 
not  so  very  long  ago  — I was  just  as  inexperienced  as  you, 
my  dear.  She  belongs  to  that  horribly  fast  set  with  which 
no  self-respecting  woman  would  be  seen.  It’s  an  outrage 
that  they  should  come  to  a hotel  like  this  and  act  as  though 
it  belonged  to  them.  She  knows  me  quite  as  well  as  I 
know  her,  but  when  I am  face  to  face  she  acts  as  though 
I was  air.” 

Honora  could  not  help  thinking  that  this,  at  least,  re- 
quired some  imagination  on  Mrs.  Maitland’s  part.  Mrs. 
Tyler  had  stopped  for  breath. 

“ I have  been  introduced  to  her  twice,”  she  continued, 
“ but  of  course  I wouldn’t  speak  to  her.  The  little  man 
with  the  lisp,  next  to  her,  who  is  always  acting  in  that 
silly  way,  they  call  Toots  Cuthbert.  He  gets  his  name 


SO  LONG  AS  YE  BOTH  SHALL  LIVE  165 


in  the  newspapers  by  leading  cotillons  in  New  York  and 
Newport.  And  the  tall,  slim,  blond  one,  with  the  green 
hat  and  the  feather  in  it,  is  Jimmy  Wing.  He’s  the  son 
of  James  Wing,  the  financier.” 

“I  went  to  school  at  Sutcliffe  with  his  sister,”  said 
Honora. 

It  seemed  to  Honora  that  Mrs.  Tyler’s  manner  under- 
went a change. 

44  My  dear,”  she  exclaimed,  44  did  you  go  to  Sutcliffe  ? 
What  a wonderful  school  it  is  ! I fully  intend  to  send 
my  daughter  Louise  there.” 

An  almost  irresistible  desire  came  over  Honora  to  run 
away.  She  excused  herself  instead,  and  hurried  back 
towards  her  room.  On  the  way  she  met  Howard  in  the 
corridor,  and  he  held  a telegram  in  his  hand. 

44  I’ve  got  some  bad  news,  Honora,”  he  said.  44  That  is, 
bad  from  the  point  of  view  of  our — honeymoon.  Sid 
Dallam  is  swamped  with  business,  and  wants  me  in  New 
York.  I’m  afraid  we’ve  got  to  cut  it  short.” 

To  his  astonishment  she  smiled. 

44  Oh,  I’m  so  glad,  Howard,”  she  cried.  “ I — I don’t 
like  this  place  nearly  so  well  as  New  Orleans.  There  are 
— so  many  people  here.” 

He  looked  relieved,  and  patted  her  on  the  arm. 

44  We’ll  go  to-night,  old  girl,”  he  said. 


CHAPTER  II 


“ STAFFORD  PARK  ” 

There  is  a terrifying  aspect  of  all  great  cities.  Rome, 
with  its  leviathan  aqueducts,  its  seething  tenements  cling- 
ing to  the  hills,  its  cruel,  shining  Palatine,  must  have 
overborne  the  provincial  traveller  coming  up  from  Ostia. 
And  Honora,  as  she  stood  on  the  deck  of  the  ferry-boat, 
approaching  New  York  for  the  second  time  in  her  life, 
could  not  overcome  a sense  of  oppression.  It  was  on  a 
sharp  December  morning,  and  the  steam  of  the  hurrying 
craft  was  dazzling  white  in  the  early  sun.  Above  and 
beyond  the  city  rose,  overpowering,  a very  different  city, 
somehow,  than  that  her  imagination  had  first  drawn. 
Each  of  that  multitude  of  vast  towers  seemed  a fortress 
now,  manned  by  Celt  and  Hun  and  Israelite  and  Saxon, 
captained  by  Titans.  And  the  strife  between  them  was 
on  a scale  never  known  in  the  world  before,  a strife  with 
modern  arms  and  modern  methods  and  modern  brains,  in 
which  there  was  no  mercy. 

Hidden  somewhere  amidst  those  bristling  miles  of  ma- 
sonry to  the  northward  of  the  towers  was  her  future  home. 
Her  mind  dwelt  upon  it  now,  for  the  first  time,  and  tried 
to  construct  it.  Once  she  had  spoken  to  Howard  of  it, 
but  he  had  smiled  and  avoided  discussion.  What  would 
it  be  like  to  have  a house  of  one’s  own  in  New  York  ? A 
house  on  Fifth  Avenue,  as  her  girl  friends  had  said  when 
they  laughingly  congratulated  her  and  begged  her  to  re- 
member that  they  came  occasionally  to  New  York.  Those 
of  us  who,  like  Honora,  believe  in  Providence,  do  not 
trouble  ourselves  with  mere  matters  of  dollars  and  cents. 
This  morning,  however,  the  huge  material  towers  which 
she  gazed  upon  seemed  stronger  than  Providence,  and  she 
thought  of  her  husband.  Was  his  fibre  sufficiently  tough 

166 


“ STAFFORD  PARK” 


167 


to  become  eventually  the  captain  of  one  of  those  fortresses, 
to  compete  with  the  Maitlands  and  the  Wings,  and  others 
she  knew  by  name,  calmly  and  efficiently  intrenched  there  ? 

The  boat  was  approaching  the  slip,  and  he  came  out  to 
her  from  the  cabin,  where  he  had  been  industriously  read- 
ing the  stock  reports,  his  newspapers  thrust  into  his  over- 
coat pocket. 

“There’s  no  place  like  New  York,  after  all,”  he  declared, 
and  added,  “ when  the  market’s  up.  We’ll  go  to  a hotel 
for  breakfast.” 

For  some  reason  she  found  it  difficult  to  ask  the  ques- 
tion on  her  lips. 

“ I suppose,”  she  said  hesitatingly,  “ I suppose  we 
couldn’t  go  — home,  Howard.  You  — you  have  never 
told  me  where  we  are  to  live.” 

As  before,  the  reference  to  their  home  seemed  to  cause 
him  amusement.  He  became  very  mysterious. 

“ Couldn’t  you  pass  away  a few  hours  shopping  this 
morning,  my  dear  ? ” 

“ Oh,  yes,”  replied  Honora. 

“While  I gather  in  a few  dollars,”  he  continued.  “ I’ll 
meet  you  at  lunch,  and  then  we’ll  go  — home.” 

As  the  sun  mounted  higher,  her  spirits  rose  with  it. 
New  York,  or  that  strip  of  it  which  is  known  to  the  more 
fortunate  of  human  beings,  is  a place  to  raise  one’s  spirits 
on  a sparkling  day  in  early  winter.  And  Honora,  as  she 
drove  in  a hansom  from  shop  to  shop,  felt  a new  sense 
of  elation  and  independence.  She  was  at  one,  now,  with 
the  prosperity  that  surrounded  her:  her  purse  no  longer 
limited,  her  whims  existing  only  to  be  gratified.  Her 
reflections  on  this  recently  attained  state  alternated  with 
alluring  conjectures  on  the  place  of  abode  of  which  Howard 
had  made  such  a mystery.  Where  was  it  ? And  why  had 
he  insisted,  before  showing  it  to  her,  upon  waiting  until 
afternoon  ? 

Newly  arrayed  in  the  most  becoming  of  grey  furs,  she 
met  him  at  that  hitherto  fabled  restaurant  which  in  future 
days  — she  reflected  — was  to  become  so  familiar  — Del- 
monico’s.  Howard  was  awaiting  her  in  the  vestibule ; and 


168 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


it  was  not  without  a little  quiver  of  timidity  and  excite- 
ment and  a consequent  rise  of  colour  that  she  followed 
the  waiter  to  a table  by  the  window.  She  felt  as  though 
the  assembled  fashionable  world  was  staring  at  her,  but 
presently  gathered  courage  enough  to  gaze  at  the  costumes 
of  the  women  and  the  faces  of  the  men.  Howard,  with  a 
sang  froid  of  which  she  felt  a little  proud,  ordered  a meal 
for  which  he  eventually  paid  a fraction  over  eight  dollars. 
What  would  Aunt  Mary  have  said  to  such  extravagance  ? 
He  produced  a large  bunch  of  violets. 

44  With  Sid  Dallam’s  love,”  he  said,  as  she  pinned  them 
on  her  gown.  44  I tried  to  get  Lily  — Mrs.  Sid  — for  lunch, 
but  you  never  can  put  your  finger  on  her.  She’ll  amuse 
you,  Honora.” 

44  Oh,  Howard,  it’s  so  much  pleasanter  lunching  alone 
to-day.  I’m  glad  you  didn’t.  And  then  afterwards  — ? ” 

He  refused,  however,  to  be  drawn.  When  they  emerged 
she  did  not  hear  the  directions  he  gave  the  cabman,  and 
it  was  not  until  they  turned  into  a narrow  side  street, 
which  became  dingier  and  dingier  as  they  bumped  their 
way  eastward,  that  she  experienced  a sudden  sinking  sen- 
sation. 

44  Howard  ! ” she  cried.  44  Where  are  you  going?  You 
must  tell  me.” 

44  One  of  the  prettiest  suburbs  in  New  Jersey — living- 
ton,”  he  said.  44  Wait  till  you  see  the  house.” 

44  Suburbs  ! Rivington  ! New  Jersey  ! ” The  words  swam 
before  Honora’s  eyes,  like  the  great  signs  she  had  seen 
printed  in  black  letters  on  the  tall  buildings  from  the 
ferry  that  morning.  She  had  a sickening  sensation,  and 
the  odour  of  his  cigarette  in  the  cab  became  unbearable. 
By  an  ironic  trick  of  her  memory,  she  recalled  that  she 
had  told  the  clerks  in  the  shops  where  she  had  made  her 
purchases  that  she  would  send  them  her  address  later. 
How  different  that  address  from  what  she  had  imagined 
it  ! 

44  It’s  in  the  country ! ” she  exclaimed. 

To  lunch  at  Delmonico’s  for  eight  dollars  and  live  in 
Rivington  ! 


“ STAFFORD  PARK  77 


169 


Howard  appeared  disturbed.  More  than  that,  he  ap- 
peared astonished,  solicitous. 

44  Why,  what’s  the  matter,  Honora?”  he  asked.  44 1 
thought  you’d  like  it.  It’s  a brand  new  house,  and  I 
got  Lily  Dallam  to  furnish  it.  She’s  a wonder  on  that 
sort  of  thing,  and  I told  her  to  go  ahead  — within  reason. 
I talked  it  over  with  your  aunt  and  uncle,  and  they  agreed 
with  me  you’d  much  rather  live  out  there  for  a few  years 
than  in  a flat.” 

44  In  a flat ! ” repeated  Honora,  with  a shudder. 

44  Certainly,”  he  said,  flicking  his  ashes  out  of  the  win- 
dow. 44  Who  do  you  think  I am,  at  my  age  ? Frederick 
T.  Maitland,  or  the  owner  of  the  Brougham  Building?” 

44  But  — Howard,”  she  protested,  44  why  didn’t  you  talk 
it  over  with  me  ? ” 

44  Because  I wanted  to  surprise  you,”  he  replied.  44 1 
spent  a month  and  a half  looking  for  that  house.  And 
you  never  seemed  to  care.  It  didn’t  occur  to  me  that 
you  would  care  — for  the  first  few  years,”  he  added,  and 
there  was  in  his  voice  a note  of  reproach  that  did  not 
escape  her.  44You  never  seemed  inclined  to  discuss  — 
business  with  me,  Honora.  I didn’t  think  you  were  in- 
terested. Dallam  and  I are  making  money.  We  expect 
some  day  to  be  on  Easy  Street  — so  to  speak  — or  Fifth 
Avenue.  Some  day,  I hope,  you  can  show  some  of  these 
people  the  road.  But  just  now  what  capital  we  have  has 
to  go  into  the  business.” 

Strangely  enough,  in  spite  of  the  intensity  of  her  dis- 
appointment, she  felt  nearer  to  her  husband  in  that  instant 
than  at  any  time  since  their  marriage.  Honora,  who 
could  not  bear  to  hurt  any  one’s  feelings,  seized  his  hand 
repentantly.  Tears  started  in  her  eyes. 

44  Oh,  Howard,  I must  seem  to  you  very  ungrateful,” 
she  cried.  44  It  was  such  a — such  a surprise.  I have 
never  lived  in  the  country,  and  I’m  sure  it  will  be  delight- 
ful — and  much  more  healthful  than  the  city.  Won’t  you 
forgive  me?” 

If  he  had  known  as  much  about  the  fluctuations  of  the 
feminine  temperament  as  of  those  of  stocks,  the  ease  with 


170 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


which  Honora  executed  this  complete  change  of  front 
might  have  disturbed  him.  Howard,  as  will  be  seen,  pos- 
sessed that  quality  which  is  loosely  called  good  nature. 
In  marriage,  he  had  been  told  (and  was  ready  to  believe), 
the  wind  blew  where  it  listed ; and  he  was  a wise  husband 
who  did  not  spend  his  time  in  inquiry  as  to  its  sources. 
He  kissed  her  before  he  helped  her  out  of  the  carriage. 
Again  they  crossed  the  North  River,  and  he  led  her  through 
the  wooden  ferry  house  on  the  New  Jersey  side  to  where 
the  Rivington  train  was  standing  beside  a platform  shed. 

There  was  no  parlour  car.  Men  and  women  — mostly 
women  — with  bundles  were  already  appropriating  the 
seats  and  racks,  and  Honora  found  herself  wondering  how 
many  of  these  individuals  were  her  future  neighbours. 
That  there  might  have  been  an  hysterical  element  in  the 
lively  anticipation  she  exhibited  during  the  journey  did 
not  occur  to  Howard  Spence. 

After  many  stops,  — in  forty-two  minutes,  to  be  exact,  - 
the  brakeman  shouted  out  the  name  of  the  place  which 
was  to  be  her  home,  and  of  which  she  had  been  ignorant 
that  morning.  They  alighted  at  an  old  red  railroad 
station,  were  seized  upon  by  a hackman  in  a coonskin 
coat,  and  thrust  into  a carriage  that  threatened  to  fall  to 
pieces  on  the  frozen  macadam  road.  They  passed  through 
a village  in  which  Honora  had  a glimpse  of  the  drug 
store  and  grocery  and  the  Grand  Army  Hall;  then  came 
detached  houses  of  all  ages  in  one-  and  two-acre  plots  — 
some  above  the  road,  for  the  country  was  rolling ; a very 
attractive  church  of  cream-coloured  stone,  and  finally  the 
carriage  turned  sharply  to  the  left  under  an  archway  on 
which  were  the  words  “ Stafford  Park,”  and  stopped  at  a 
very  new  curbstone  in  a very  new  gutter  on  the  right. 

“ Here  we  are ! ” cried  Howard,  as  he  fished  in  his 
trousers  pockets  for  money  to  pay  the  hackman. 

Honora  looked  around  her.  Stafford  Park  consisted  of 
a wide  centre-way  of  red  gravel,  not  yet  packed,  with  an 
island  in  its  middle  planted  with  shrubbery  and  young 
trees,  the  bare  branches  of  which  formed  a black  tracery 
against  the  orange-red  of  the  western  sky.  On  both  sides 


“ STAFFORD  PARK” 


171 


of  this  centre-way  were  concrete  walks,  with  cross-walks 
from  the  curbs  to  the  houses.  There  were  six  of  these  — 
three  on  each  side  — standing  on  a raised  terrace  and 
about  two  hundred  feet  apart.  Beyond  them,  to  the 
northward,  Stafford  Park  was  still  a wilderness  of  second- 
growth  hardwood,  interspersed  with  a few  cedars. 

Honora’s  house,  the  first  on  the  right,  was  exactly  like 
the  other  five.  If  we  look  at  it  through  her  eyes,  we  shall 
find  this  similarity  its  main  drawback.  If  we  are  a little 
older,  however,  and  more  sophisticated,  we  shall  suspect 
the  owner  of  Stafford  Park  and  his  architect  of  a design 
to  make  it  appear  imposing.  It  was  (indefinite  and  much- 
abused  term)  Colonial  ; painted  white  ; and  double,  with 
dormer  windows  of  diagonal  wood-surrounded  panes  in 
the  roof.  There  was  a large  pillared  porch  on  its  least 
private  side  — namely,  the  front.  A white-capped  maid 
stood  in  the  open  doorway  and  smiled  at  Honora  as  she 
entered. 

Honora  walked  through  the  rooms.  There  was  nothing 
intricate  about  the  house ; it  was  as  simple  as  two  times 
four,  and  really  too  large  for  her  and  Howard.  Her 
presents  were  installed,  the  pictures  and  photograph  frames 
and  chairs,  even  Mr.  Isham’s  dining-room  table  and  Cousin 
Eleanor’s  piano.  The  sight  of  these,  and  of  the  engraving 
which  Aunt  Mary  had  sent  on,  and  which  all  her  childhood 
had  hung  over  her  bed  in  the  little  room  at  home,  brought 
the  tears  once  more  to  her  eyes.  But  she  forced  them 
back  bravely. 

These  reflections  were  interrupted  by  the  appearance  of 
the  little  maid  announcing  that  tea  was  ready,  and  bring- 
ing her  two  letters.  One  was  from  Susan  Holt,  and  the 
other,  written  in  a large,  slanting,  and  angular  handwriting, 
was  signed  Lily  Dallam.  It  was  dated  from  New  York. 

“ My  dear  Honora,”  it  ran,  “ I feel  that  I must  call  you 
so,  for  Sid  and  Howard,  in  addition  to  being  partners,  are 
such  friends.  I hesitated  so  long  about  furnishing  your 
house,  my  dear,  but  Howard  insisted,  and  said  he  wished  to 
surprise  you.  I am  sending  you  this  line  to  welcome  you, 
and  to  tell  you  that  I have  arranged  with  the  furniture 


172 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


people  to  take  any  or  all  things  back  that  you  do  not  like, 
and  exchange  them.  After  all,  they  will  be  out  of  date 
in  a few  years,  and  Howard  and  Sid  will  have  made  so 
much  money  by  that  time,  I hope,  that  I shall  be  able  to 
leave  my  apartment,  which  is  dear,  and  you  will  be  com- 
ing to  town.” 

Hon  ora  laid  down  the  sheet,  and  began  to  tidy  her 
hair  before  the  glass  of  the  highly  polished  bureau  in  her 
room.  A line  in  Susan’s  letter  occurred  to  her  : “Mother 
hopes  to  see  you  soon.  She  asked  me  to  tell  you  to  buy 
good  things  which  will  last  you  all  your  life,  and  says 
that  it  pays.” 

The  tea-table  was  steaming  in  the  parlour  in  front 
of  the  wood  fire  in  the  blue  tiled  fireplace.  The  oak 
floor  reflected  its  gleam,  and  that  of  the  electric  lights  ; 
the  shades  were  drawn ; a slight  odour  of  steam  heat 
pervaded  the  place.  Howard,  smoking  a cigarette,  was 
reclining  on  a sofa  that  evidently  was  not  made  for 
such  a purpose,  reading  the  evening  newspapers. 

“Well,  Honora,”  he  said,  as  she  took  her  seat  behind 
the  tea-table,  “you  haven’t  told  me  how  you  like  it. 
Pretty  cosey,  eh  ? And  enough  spare  room  to  have  people 
out  over  Sundays.” 

“ Oh,  Howard,  I do  like  it,”  she  cried,  in  a desperate 
attempt  — which  momentarily  came  near  succeeding  — 
to  convince  herself  that  she  could  have  desired  nothing 
more.  “ It’s  so  sweet  and  clean  and  new  — and  all  our 
own.” 

She  succeeded,  at  any  rate,  in  convincing  Howard. 
In  certain  matters,  he  was  easily  convinced. 

“ I thought  you’d  be  pleased  when  you  saw  it,  my  dear,” 
he  said. 


CHAPTER  III 


THE  GREAT  UNATTACHED 

It  was  the  poet  Cowper  who  sang  of  domestic  happiness 
as  the  only  bliss  that  has  survived  the  Fall.  One  of  the 
burning  and  unsolved  questions  of  to-day  is,  — will  it  sur- 
vive the  twentieth  century  ? Will  it  survive  rapid  transit 
and  bridge  and  Woman’s  Rights,  the  modern  novel  and 
modern  drama,  automobiles,  flying  machines,  and  intelli- 
gence offlces;  hotel,  apartment,  and  suburban  life,  or  four 
homes,  or  none  at  all  ? Is  it  a weed  that  will  grow  any- 
where, in  a crevice  between  two  stones  in  the  city  ? Or  is 
it  a plant  that  requires  tender  care  and  the  water  of  self- 
sacrifice  ? Above  all,  is  it  desirable  ? 

Our  heroine,  as  may  have  been  suspected,  has  an  adapt- 
able temperament.  Her  natural  position  is  upright,  but 
like  the  reed,  she  can  bend  gracefully,  and  yields  only  to 
spring  back  again  blithely.  Since  this  chronicle  regards 
her,  we  must  try  to  look  at  existence  through  her  eyes, 
and  those  of  some  of  her  generation  and  her  sex  : we 
must  give  the  four  years  of  her  life  in  Rivington  the 
approximate  value  which  she  herself  would  have  put 
upon  it  — which  is  a chapter.  We  must  regard  Riv- 
ington as  a kind  of  purgatory,  not  solely  a place  of 
departed  spirits,  but  of  those  which  have  not  yet  ar- 
rived ; as  one  of  the  many  temporary  abodes  of  the 
Great  Unattached. 

No  philosophical  writer  has  as  yet  made  the  attempt  to 
define  the  change  — as  profound  as  that  of  the  tadpole  to 
the  frog  — between  the  lover  and  the  husband.  An 
author  of  ideals  would  not  dare  to  proclaim  that  this 
change  is  inevitable  : some  husbands  — and  some  wives  — 
are  fortunate  enough  to  escape  it,  but  it  is  not  unlikely 
to  happen  in  our  modern  civilization.  Just  when  it 

173 


174 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


occurred  in  Howard  Spence  it  is  difficult  to  say,  but  we 
have  got  to  consider  him  henceforth  as  a husband ; one 
who  regards  his  home  as  a shipyard  rather  than  the  sanc- 
tuary of  a goddess  ; as  a launching  place,  the  ways  of 
which  are  carefully  greased,  that  he  may  slide  off  to 
business  every  morning  with  as  little  friction  as  possible, 
and  return  at  night  to  rest  undisturbed  in  a comfortable 
berth,  to  ponder  over  the  Combat  of  the  morrow. 

It  would  be  inspiring  to  summon  the  vision  of  Honora, 
in  rustling  garments,  poised  as  the  figurehead  of  this  craft, 
beckoning  him  on  to  battle  and  victory.  Alas  ! the 
launching  happened  at  that  grimmest  and  most  unro- 
mantic of  hours  — ten  minutes  of  eight  in  the  morning. 
There  was  a period,  indeterminate,  when  she  poured  out 
his  coffee  with  wifely  zeal;  a second  period  when  she 
appeared  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs  to  kiss  him  as  he  was 
going  out  of  the  door  ; a third  when,  clad  in  an  attractive 
dressing-gown,  she  waved  him  good-by  from  the  window  ; 
and  lastly,  a fourth,  which  was  only  marked  by  an  occa- 
sional protest  on  his  part,  when  the  coffee  was  weak. 

“ I’d  gladly  come  down,  Howard,  if  it  seemed  to  make 
the  least  difference  to  you,”  said  Honora.  “ But  all  you 
do  is  to  sit  with  your  newspaper  propped  up  and  read  the 
stock  reports,  and  growl  when  I ask  you  a polite  question. 
You’ve  no  idea  how  long  it  makes  the  days  out  here,  to 
get  up  early.” 

u It  seems  to  me  you  put  in  a good  many  days  in  town,” 
he  retorted. 

“ Surely  you  don’t  expect  me  to  spend  all  my  time  in 
Rivington ! ” she  cried  reproachfully;  “I’d  die.  And 
then  I am  always  having  to  get  new  cooks  for  you,  because 
they  can’t  make  Hollandaise  sauce  like  hotel  chefs.  Men 
have  no  idea  how  hard  it  is  to  keep  house  in  the  country, 
— I just  wish  you  had  to  go  to  those  horrid  intelligence 
offices.  You  wouldn’t  stay  in  Rivington  ten  days.  And 
all  the  good  cooks  drink.” 

Howard,  indeed,  with  the  aid  of  the  village  policeman, 
had  had  to  expel  from  his  kitchen  one  imperious  female 
who  swore  like  a dock  hand,  and  who  wounded  Honora 


THE  GREAT  UNATTACHED 


175 


to  the  quick  by  remarking,  as  she  departed  in  durance, 
that  she  had  always  lived  with  ladies  and  gentlemen  and 
people  who  were  somebody.  The  incident  had  tended 
further  to  detract  from  the  romance  of  the  country. 

It  is  a mistake  to  suppose  that  the  honeymoon  dis- 
appears below  the  horizon  with  the  rapidity  of  a tropical 
sun.  And  there  is  generally  an  afterglow.  In  spite  of 
cooks  and  other  minor  clouds,  in  spite  of  visions  of  metro- 
politan triumphs  (not  shattered,  but  put  away  in  camphor), 
life  was  touched  with  a certain  novelty.  There  was  a 
new  runabout  and  a horse  which  Honora  could  drive  her- 
self, and  she  went  to  the  station  to  meet  her  husband. 
On  mild  Saturday  and  Sunday  afternoons  they  made  long 
excursions  into  the  country  — - until  the  golf  season  be- 
gan, when  the  lessons  begun  at  Silverdale  were  renewed. 
But  after  a while  certain  male  competitors  appeared,  and 
the  lessons  were  discontinued.  Sunday,  after  his  pile  of 
newspapers  had  religiously  been  disposed  of,  became  a field 
day.  Indeed,  it  is  impossible,  without  a twinge  of  pity, 
to  behold  Howard  taking  root  in  Rivington,  for  we  know 
that  sooner  or  later  he  will  be  dug  up  and  transplanted. 
The  soil  was  congenial.  He  played  poker  on  the  train 
with  the  Rivington  husbands,  and  otherwise  got  along 
with  them  famously.  And  it  was  to  him  an  enigma  — 
when  occasionally  he  allowed  his  thoughts  to  dwell  upon 
such  trivial  matters  — why  Honora  was  not  equally  con- 
genial with  the  wives. 

There  were,  no  doubt,  interesting  people  in  Rivington 
about  whom  many  stories  could  be  written:  people  with 
loves  and  fears  and  anxieties  and  joys,  with  illnesses  and  re- 
coveries, with  babies,  but  few  grandchildren.  There  were 
weddings  at  the  little  church,  and  burials  ; there  were 
dances  at  the  golf  club;  there  were  Christmas  trees,  where 
most  of  the  presents — like  Honora’s  — came  from  afar, 
from  family  centres  formed  in  a social  period  gone  by  ; 
there  were  promotions  for  the  heads  of  families,  and  con- 
sequent rejoicings  over  increases  of  income  ; there  were 
movings  ; there  were  — inevitable  in  the  ever  grinding 
action  of  that  remorseless  law,  the  survival  of  the  fittest  — 


176 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


commercial  calamities,  and  the  heartrending  search  for 
new  employment. 

Rivington  called  upon  Honora  in  vehicles  of  all  descrip- 
tions, in  proportion  to  the  improvidence  or  prosperity  of 
the  owners.  And  Honora  returned  the  calls,  and  joined 
the  Sewing  Circle,  and  the  Woman’s  Luncheon  Club, 
which  met  for  the  purpose  of  literary  discussion.  In  the 
evenings  there  were  little  dinners  of  six  or  eight,  where 
the  men  talked  business  and  the  women  house  rent  and 
groceries  and  gossip  and  the  cheapest  places  in  New  York 
City  to  buy  articles  of  the  latest  fashion.  Some  of  them 
had  actually  built  or  were  building  houses  that  cost  as 
much  as  thirty  thousand  dollars,  with  the  inexplicable 
intention  of  remaining  in  Rivington  the  rest  of  their  lives! 

Honora  was  kind  to  these  ladies.  As  we  know,  she  was 
kind  to  everybody.  She  almost  allowed  two  or  three  of  them 
to  hope  that  they  might  become  her  intimates,  and  made 
excursions  to  New  York  with  them,  and  lunched  in  fash- 
ionable restaurants.  Their  range  of  discussion  included 
babies  and  Robert  Browning,  the  modern  novel  and  the 
best  matinee.  It  would  be  interesting  to  know  why  she 
treated  them,  on  the  whole,  like  travellers  met  by  chance 
in  a railroad  station,  from  whom  she  was  presently  forever 
to  depart.  The  time  and  manner  of  this  departure  were 
matters  to  be  determined  in  the  future. 

It  would  be  interesting  to  know,  likewise,  just  at  what 
period  the  intention  of  moving  away  from  Rivington 
became  fixed  in  Honora’s  mind.  Honora  circumscribed, 
Honora  limited,  Honora  admitting  defeat,  and  this  chroni- 
cle would  be  finished.  The  gods  exist  somewhere,  though 
many  incarnations  may  be  necessary  to  achieve  their 
companionship.  And  no  prison  walls  loom  so  high  as  to 
appall  our  heroine’s  soul.  To  exchange  one  prison  for 
another  is  in  itself  something  of  a feat,  and  an  argument 
that  the  thing  may  be  done  again.  Neither  do  the  wise 
ones  beat  themselves  uselessly  against  brick  or  stone. 
Howard  — poor  man! — is  fatuous  enough  to  regard  a 
great  problem  as  being  settled  once  and  for  all  by  a mar- 
riage certificate  and  a benediction  ; and  labours  under  the 


THE  GREAT  UNATTACHED 


177 


delusion  that  henceforth  he  may  come  and  go  as  he  pleases, 
eat  his  breakfast  in  silence,  sleep  after  dinner,  and  spend 
his  Sundays  at  the  Rivington  Golf  Club.  It  is  as  well  to 
leave  him,  at  present,  in  blissful  ignorance  of  his  future. 

Our  sympathies,  however,  must  be  with  Honora,  who 
has  paid  the  price  for  heaven,  and  who  discovers  that  by 
marriage  she  has  merely  joined  the  ranks  of  the  Great 
Unattached.  Hitherto  it  had  been  inconceivable  to  her 
that  any  one  sufficiently  prosperous  could  live  in  a city,  or 
near  it  and  dependent  on  it,  without  being  socially  a part 
of  it.  Most  momentous  of  disillusions!  With  the  excep- 
tion of  the  Sidney  Dallams  and  one  or  two  young  brokers 
who  occasionally  came  out  over  Sunday,  her  husband  had 
no  friends  in  New  York.  Rivington  and  the  Holt  family 
(incongruous  mixture  !)  formed  the  sum  total  of  her 
acquaintance. 

On  Monday  mornings  in  particular,  if  perchance  she 
went  to  town,  the  huge  signs  which  she  read  across  the 
swamps,  of  breakfast  foods  and  other  necessaries,  seemed, 
for  some  reason,  best  to  express  her  isolation.  Well- 
dressed,  laughing  people  descended  from  omnibuses  at  the 
prettier  stations,  people  who  seemed  all-sufficient  to  them- 
selves; people  she  was  sure  she  should  like  if  only  she 
knew  them.  Once  the  sight  of  her  school  friend,  Ethel 
Wing,  chatting  with  a tall  young  man,  brought  up  a flood  of 
recollections;  again,  in  a millinery  establishment,  she  came 
face  to  face  with  the  attractive  Mrs.  Maitland  whom  she 
had  seen  at  Hot  Springs.  Sometimes  she  would  walk  on 
Fifth  Avenue,  watching,  with  mingled  sensations,  the 
procession  there.  The  colour,  the  movement,  the  sensa- 
tion of  living  in  a world  where  every  one  was  fabu- 
lously wealthy,  was  at  once  a stimulation  and  a despair. 
Brougham  after  brougham  passed,  victoria  after  victoria, 
in  which  beautifully  gowned  women  chatted  gayly  or  sat 
back,  impassive,  amidst  the  cushions.  Some  of  them,  in- 
deed, looked  bored,  but  this  did  not  mar  the  general 
effect  of  pleasure  and  prosperity.  Even  the  people  — • 
well-dressed,  too  — in  the  handsome  cabs  were  usually 
animated  and  smiling.  On  the  sidewalk  athletic,  clear- 

N 


178 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


skinned  girls  passed  her,  sometimes  with  a man,  sometimes 
in  groups  of  two  and  three,  going  in  and  out  of  the  expen- 
sive-looking shops  with  the  large,  plate-glass  windows. 

All  of  these  women,  apparently,  had  something  definite 
to  do,  somewhere  to  go,  some  one  to  meet  the  very  next 
minute.  They  protested  to  milliners  and  dressmakers  if 
they  were  kept  waiting,  and  even  seemed  impatient  of 
time  lost  if  one  by  chance  bumped  into  them.  But  Honora 
had  no  imperative  appointments.  Lily  Dallam  was  almost 
sure  to  be  out,  or  going  out  immediately,  and  seemed  to 
have  more  engagements  than  anyone  in  New  York. 

“ I’m  so  sorry,  my  dear,”  she  would  say,  and  add,  re- 
proachfully: “why  didn’t  you  telephone  me  you  were 
coming  ? If  you  had  only  let  me  know  we  might  have 
lunched  together  or  gone  to  the  matinee.  Now  I have 
promised  Clara  Trowbridge  to  go  to  a lunch  party  at  her 
house.” 

Mrs.  Dallam  had  a most  convincing  way  of  saying  such 
things,  and  in  spite  of  one’s  self  put  one  in  the  wrong  for 
not  having  telephoned.  But  if  indeed  Honora  telephoned 
— as  she  did  once  or  twice  in  her  innocence  — Lily  was 
quite  as  distressed. 

“ My  dear,  why  didn’t  you  let  me  know  last  night  ? 
Trixy  Brent  has  given  Lula  Chandos  his  box  at  the  Horse 
Show,  and  Lula  would  never,  never  forgive  me  if  I backed 
out.” 

Although  she  lived  in  an  apartment  — in  a most  attrac- 
tive one,  to  be  sure  — there  could  be  no  doubt  about  it 
that  Lily  Dallam  was  fashionable.  She  had  a way  with 
her,  and  her  costumes  were  marvellous.  She  could  have 
made  her  fortune  either  as  a dressmaker  or  a house  deco- 
rator, and  she  bought  everything  from  “little  ” men  and 
women  whom  she  discovered  herself.  It  was  a curious 
fact  that  all  of  these  small  tradespeople  eventually  became 
fashionable,  too.  Lily  was  kind  to  Honora,  and  gave  her 
their  addresses  before  they  grew  to  be  great  and  insolent 
and  careless  whether  one  patronized  them  or  not. 

While  we  are  confessing  the  trials  and  weaknesses  of 
our  heroine,  we  shall  have  to  admit  that  she  read,  occa- 


THE  GREAT  UNATTACHED 


179 


sionally,  the  society  columns  of  the  newspapers.  And  in 
this  manner  she  grew  to  have  a certain  familiarity  with 
the  doings  of  those  favourites  of  fortune  who  had  more 
delightful  engagements  than  hours  in  which  to  fulfil  them. 
So  intimate  was  Lily  Dallam  with  many  of  these  Olym- 
pians that  she  spoke  of  them  by  their  first  names,  or  gen- 
erally by  their  nicknames.  Some  two  years  after  Honora’s 
marriage  the  Dallams  had  taken  a house  in  that  much  dis- 
cussed colony  of  Quicksands,  where  sport  and  pleasure 
reigned  supreme : and  more  than  once  the  gown  which 
Mrs.  Sidney  Dallam  had  worn  to  a polo  match  had  been 
faithfully  described  in  the  public  prints,  or  the  dinners 
which  she  had  given  at  the  Quicksands  Club.  One  of 
these  dinners,  Honora  learned,  had  been  given  in  honour 
of  Mr.  Trixton  Brent. 

44  You  ought  to  know  Trixy,  Honora,”  Mrs.  Dallam 
declared  ; 44  he’d  be  crazy  about  you.  ” 

Time  passed,  however,  and  Mrs.  Dallam  made  no  attempt 
to  bring  about  this  most  desirable  meeting.  When  Ho- 
nora and  Howard  went  to  town  to  dine  with  the  Dallams, 
it  was  always  at  a restaurant,  a partie  carree.  Lily  Dallam 
thought  it  dull  to  dine  at  home,  and  they  went  to  the 
theatre  afterwards  — invariably  a musical  comedy.  Al- 
though Honora  did  not  care  particularly  for  musical 
comedies,  she  always  experienced  a certain  feverish  stimu- 
lation which  kept  her  wide  awake  on  the  midnight  train 
to  Rivington.  Howard  had  a most  exasperating  habit  of 
dozing  in  the  corner  of  the  seat. 

44  You  are  always  sleepy  when  I have  anything  interest- 
ing to  talk  to  you  about,”  said  Honora,  44  or  reading  stock 
reports.  I scarcely  see  anything  at  all  of  you.” 

Howard  roused  himself. 

44  Where  are  we  now  ? ” he  asked. 

44  Oh,”  cried  Honora,  44  we  haven’t  passed  Hydeville. 
Howard,  who  is  Trixton  Brent  ? ” 

44  What  about  him  ? ” demanded  her  husband. 

44  Nothing — except  that  he  is  one  of  Lily’s  friends,  and 
she  said  she  knew  — I should  like  him.  I wish  you  would 
be  more  interested  in  people.  Who  is  he  ? ” 


180 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


“One  of  the  best-known  operators  in  the  market,” 
Howard  answered,  and  his  air  implied  that  a lack  of 
knowledge  of  Mr.  Brent  was  ignorance  indeed  ; “ a daring 
gambler.  He  cornered  cotton  once,  and  raked  in  over  a 
million.  He’s  a sport,  too.” 

“ How  old  is  he  ? ” 

“ About  forty-three.” 

“ Is  he  married  ? ” inquired  Honora. 

“ He’s  divorced,”  said  Howard.  And  she  had  to  be 
content  with  so  much  of  the  gentleman’s  biography,  for 
her  husband  relapsed  into  somnolence  again.  A few  days 
later  she  saw  a picture  of  Mr.  Brent,  in  polo  costume,  in 
one  of  the  magazines.  She  thought  him  good-looking, 
and  wondered  what  kind  of  a wife  he  had  had. 

Honora,  when  she  went  to  town  for  the  day,  generally 
could  be  sure  of  finding  some  one,  at  least,  of  the  Holt 
family  at  home  at  luncheon  time.  They  lived  still  in  the 
same  house  on  Madison  Avenue  to  which  Aunt  Mary  and 
Uncle  Tom  had  been  invited  to  breakfast  on  the  day  of 
Honora’s  arrival  in  her  own  country.  It  had  a wide, 
brownstone  front,  with  a basement,  and  a high  flight  of 
steps  leading  up  to  the  door.  Within,  solemnity  reigned, 
and  this  effect  was  largely  produced  by  the  prodigiously 
high  ceilings  and  the  black  walnut  doors  and  woodwork. 
On  the  second  floor,  the  library  where  the  family  assem- 
bled was  more  cheerful.  The  books  themselves,  although 
in  black-walnut  cases,  and  the  sun  pouring  in,  assisted  in 
making  this  effect. 

Here,  indeed,  were  stability  and  peace.  Here  Honora 
remade  the  acquaintance  of  the  young  settlement  worker, 
and  of  the  missionary,  now  on  the  Presbyterian  Board  of 
Missions.  Here  she  charmed  other  friends  and  allies  of 
the  Holt  family;  and  once  met,  somewhat  to  her  surprise, 
two  young  married  women  who  differed  radically  from 
the  other  guests  of  the  house.  Honora  admired  their 
gowns  if  not  their  manners ; for  they  ignored  her,  and 
talked  to  Mrs.  Holt  about  plans  for  raising  money  for  the 
Working  Girl’s  Relief  Society. 

“ You  should  join  us,  my  dear,”  said  Mrs.  Holt;  “I  am 
sure  you  would  be  interested  in  our  work.” 


THE  GREAT  UNATTACHED 


181 


“ I’d  be  so  glad  to,  Mrs.  Holt,”  replied  Honora,  44  if 
only  I didn’t  live  in  the  country.” 

She  came  away,  as  usual,  with  the  feeling  of  having  run 
into  a cul  de  sac.  Mrs.  Holt’s  house  was  a refuge,  not 
an  outlet ; and  thither  Honora  directed  her  steps  when  a 
distaste  for  lunching  alone  or  with  some  of  her  Rivington 
friends  in  the  hateful,  selfish  gayety  of  a fashionable 
restaurant  overcame  her  ; or  when  her  moods  had  run 
through  a cycle,  and  an  atmosphere  of  religion  and  domes- 
ticity became  congenial. 

44  Howard,”  she  asked  unexpectedly  one  evening,  as  he 
sat  smoking  beside  the  blue  tiled  mantel,  44  have  you  got 
on  your  winter  flannels  ? ” 

44  I’ll  bet  a hundred  dollars  to  ten  cents,”  he  cried, 44  that 
you’ve  been  lunching  with  Mrs.  Holt.” 

44 1 think  you’re  horrid,”  said  Honora. 

Something  must  be  said  for  her.  Domestic  virtue,  in 
the  face  of  such  mocking  heresy,  is  exceptionally  difficult 
of  attainment. 

Mrs.  Holt  had  not  been  satisfied  with  Honora’s  and 
Susan’s  accounts  of  the  house  in  Stafford  Park.  She  felt 
called  upon  to  inspect  it.  And  for  this  purpose,  in  the 
spring  following  Honora’s  marriage,  she  made  a pilgrim- 
age to  Rivington  and  spent  the  day.  Honora  met  her  at 
the  station,  and  the  drive  homeward  was  occupied  in  an- 
swering innumerable  questions  on  the  characters,  condi- 
tions, and  modes  of  life  of  Honora’s  neighbours. 

44  Now,  my  dear,”  said  Mrs.  Holt,  when  they  were  seated 
before  the  fire  after  lunch,  44 1 want  you  to  feel  that  you 
can  come  to  me  for  everything.  I must  congratulate  you 
and  Howard  on  being  sensible  enough  to  start  your  mar- 
ried life  simply,  in  the  country.  I shall  never  forget  the 
little  house  in  which  Mr.  Holt  and  1 began,  and  how  bliss- 
fully happy  I was.”  The  good  lady  reached  out  and  took 
Honora’s  hand  in  her  own.  44  Not  that  your  deep  feeling 
for  your  husband  will  ever  change.  But  men  are  more 
difficult  to  manage  as  they  grow  older,  my  dear,  and  the 
best  of  them  require  a little  managing  for  their  own  good. 
And  increased  establishments  bring  added  cares  and  re- 


182 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


sponsibilities.  Now  that  I am  here,  I have  formed  a very 
fair  notion  of  what  it  ought  to  cost  you  to  live  in  such  a 
place.  And  I shall  be  glad  to  go  over  your  housekeeping 
books  with  you,  and  tell  you  if  you  are  being  cheated  — 
as  I dare  say  you  are.” 

“ Oh,  Mrs.  Holt,”  Honora  faltered,  “I  — I haven’t  kept 
any  books.  Howard  just  pays  the  bills.” 

“ You  mean  to  say  he  hasn’t  given  you  any  allowance  ! ” 
cried  Mrs.  Holt,  aghast.  “ You  don’t  know  what  it  costs 
to  run  this  house  ? ” 

“No,”  said  Honora,  humbly.  “I  never  thought  of  it. 
I have  no  idea  what  Howard’s  income  may  be.” 

“ I’ll  write  to  Howard  myself  — to-night,”  declared  Mrs. 
Holt. 

“Please  don’t,  Mrs.  Holt.  I’ll  — I’ll  speak  to  him,” 
said  Honora. 

“Very  well,  then,”  the  good  lady  agreed,  “and  I will 
send  you  one  of  my  own  books,  with  my  own  system,  as 
soon  as  I get  home.  It  is  not  your  fault,  my  dear,  it  is 
Howard’s.  It  is  little  short  of  criminal  of  him.  I sup- 
pose this  is  one  of  the  pernicious  results  of  being  on  the 
Stock  Exchange.  New  York  is  nothing  like  what  it  was 
when  I was  a girl  — the  extravagance  by  everybody  is 
actually  appalling.  The  whole  city  is  bent  upon  lavish- 
ness and  pleasure.  And  I am  afraid  it  is  very  often  the 
wives,  Honora,  who  take  the  lead  in  prodigality.  It  all 
tends,  my  dear,  to  loosen  the  marriage  tie  — especially 
this  frightful  habit  of  dining  in  hotels  and  restaurants.” 

Before  she  left  Mrs.  Holt  insisted  on  going  over  the 
house  from  top  to  bottom,  from  laundry  to  linen  closet. 
Suffice  it  to  say  that  the  inspection  was  not  without  a cer- 
tain criticism,  which  must  be  passed  over. 

“It  is  a little  large,  just  for  you  and  Howard,  my  dear,” 
was  her  final  comment.  “ But  you  are  wise  in  providing 
for  the  future.” 

“ For  the  future  ? ” Honora  repeated. 

Mrs.  Holt  playfully  pinched  her  cheek. 

“ When  the  children  arrive,  my  dear,  as  I hope  they 
will  — soon,”  she  said,  smiling  at  Honora’s  colour.  “ Some- 


THE  GREAT  UNATTACHED 


183 


times  it  all  comes  back  to  me  — my  own  joy  when  Joshua 
was  a baby.  I was  very  foolish  about  him,  no  doubt. 
Annie  and  Gwendolen  tell  me  so.  1 wouldn’t  even  let 
the  nurse  sit  up  with  him  when  he  was  getting  his  teeth. 
Mercy  ! ” she  exclaimed,  glancing  at  the  enamelled  watch 
on  her  gown,  — for  long  practice  had  enabled  her  to  tell 
the  time  upside  down,  — “ we’ll  be  late  for  the  train,  my 
dear.” 

After  returning  from  the  station,  Honora  sat  for  a long 
time  at  her  window,  looking  out  on  the  park.  The  after- 
noon sunlight  had  the  silvery  tinge  that  comes  to  it  in 
March ; the  red  gravel  of  the  centre  driveway  was  very 
wet,  and  the  grass  of  the  lawns  of  the  houses  opposite  al- 
ready a vivid  green ; in  the  back-yards  the  white  clothes 
snapped  from  the  lines ; and  a group  of  children,  followed 
by  nurses  with  perambulators,  tripped  along  the  strip  of 
sidewalk. 

Why  could  not  she  feel  the  joys  and  desires  of  which 
Mrs.  Holt  had  spoken  ? It  never  had  occurred  to  her  un- 
til to-day  that  they  were  lacking  in  her.  Children ! A 
home  ! Why  was  it  that  she  did  not  want  children  ? 
Why  should  such  a natural  longing  be  absent  in  her  ? 
Her  mind  went  back  to  the  days  of  her  childhood  dolls, 
and  she  smiled  to  think  of  their  large  families.  She  had 
always  associated  marriage  with  children  — until  she  got 
married.  And  now  she  remembered  that  her  childhood 
ideals  of  the  matrimonial  state  had  been  very  much  like 
Mrs.  Holt’s  own  experience  of  it.  Why  then  had  that 
ideal  gradually  faded  until,  when  marriage  came  to  her,  it 
was  faint  and  shadowy  indeed?  Why  were  not  her  spirit 
and  her  hopes  enclosed  by  the  walls  in  which  she  sat  ? 

The  housekeeping  book  came  from  Mrs.  Holt  the  next 
morning,  but  Honora  did  not  mention  it  to  her  husband. 
Circumstances  were  her  excuse  : he  had  had  a hard  day  on 
the  Exchange,  and  at  such  times  he  showed  a marked  dis- 
inclination for  the  discussion  of  household  matters.  It 
was  not  until  the  autumn,  in  fact,  that  the  subject  finance 
was  mentioned  between  them,  and  after  a period  during 
which  Howard  had  been  unusually  uncommunicative  and 


184 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


morose.  Just  as  electrical  disturbances  are  said  to  be  in 
some  way  connected  with  sun  spots,  so  Honora  learned 
that  a certain  glumness  and  tendency  to  discuss  expenses 
on  the  part  of  her  husband  were  synchronous  with  a de- 
pression in  the  market. 

“I  wish  you’d  learn  to  go  a little  slow,  Honora,”  he 
said  one  evening.  “ The  bills  are  pretty  stiff  this  month. 
You  don’t  seem  to  have  any  idea  of  the  value  of  money.” 

“ Oh,  Howard,”  she  exclaimed,  after  a moment’s  pause 
for  breath,  44  how  can  you  say  such  a thing,  when  I save 
you  so  much?” 

“ Save  me  so  much  ! ” he  echoed. 

“ Yes.  If  I had  gone  to  Ridley  for  this  suit,  he  would 
have  charged  me  two  hundred  dollars.  I took  such  pains 
— all  on  your  account  — to  find  a little  man  Lily  Dallam 
told  me  about,  who  actually  made  it  for  one  hundred  and 
twenty-five.” 

It  was  typical  of  the  unreason  of  his  sex  that  he  failed 
to  be  impressed  by  this  argument. 

44  If  you  go  on  saving  that  way,”  said  he,  “ we’ll  be  in 
the  hands  of  a receiver  by  Christmas.  I can’t  see  any 
difference  between  buying  one  suit  from  Ridley  — whoever 
he  maybe — and  three  from  Lily  Dallam’s  4 little  man,’ 
except  that  you  spend  more  than  three  times  as  much 
money.” 

44  Oh,  I didn’t  get  three  ! — I never  thought  you  could 
be  so  unjust,  Howard.  Surely  you  don’t  want  me  to  dress 
like  these  Rivington  women,  do  you  ? ” 

44 1 can’t  see  anything  wrong  with  their  clothes,”  he 
maintained. 

44  And  to  think  that  I was  doing  it  all  to  please  you ! ” 
she  cried  reproachfully. 

44  To  please  me  ! ” 

44  Who  else?  We  — we  don’t  know  anybody  in  New 
York.  And  I wanted  you  to  be  proud  of  me.  I’ve  tried 
so  hard  and  — and  sometimes  you  don’t  even  look  at  my 
gowns,  and  say  whether  you  like  them  — and  they  are  all 
for  you.” 

This  argument,  at  least,  did  not  fail  of  results,  combined 


THE  GREAT  UNATTACHED 


185 


as  it  was  with  a hint  of  tears  in  Honora’s  voice.  Its  effect 
upon  Howard  was  peculiar  — he  was  at  once  irritated,  dis- 
armed, and  softened.  He  put  down  his  cigarette  — - and 
Honora  was  on  his  knee ! He  could  not  deny  her 
attractions. 

“How  could  you  be  so  cruel,  Howard?”  she  asked. 
“You  know  you  wouldn’t  like  me  to  be  a slattern.  It 
was  my  own  idea  to  save  money  — I had  a long  talk  about 
economy  one  day  with  Mrs.  Holt.  And  you  act  as  though 
you  had  such  a lot  of  it  when  we’re  in  town  for  dinner 
with  these  Rivington  people.  You  always  have  cham- 
pagne. If  — if  you’re  poor,  you  ought  to  have  told  me  so, 
and  I shouldn’t  have  ordered  another  dinner  gown.” 

“ You’ve  ordered  another  dinner  gown  ! ” 

“ Only  a little  one,”  said  Honora,  “ the  simplest  kind. 
But  if  you’re  poor  — ” 

She  had  made  a discovery  — to  reflect  upon  his  business 
success  was  to  touch  a sensitive  nerve. 

“I’m  not  poor,”  he  declared.  “But  the  bottom’s 
dropped  out  of  the  market,  and  even  old  Wing  is  economiz- 
ing. We’ll  have  to  put  on  the  brakes  for  a while,  Honora.” 
It  was  shortly  after  this  that  Honora  departed  on  the 
first  of  her  three  visits  to  St.  Louis. 


CHAPTER  IV 


THE  NEW  DOCTRINE 

This  history  concerns  a free  and  untrammelled  — and, 
let  us  add,  feminine  — spirit.  No  lady  is  in  the  least  in- 
teresting if  restricted  and  contented  with  her  restrictions, 
— a fact  which  the  ladies  of  our  nation  are  fast  finding 
out.  What  would  become  of  the  Goddess  of  Liberty? 
And  let  us  mark  well,  while  we  are  making  these  obser- 
vations, that  Liberty  is  a goddess,  not  a god,  although  it 
has  taken  us  in  America  over  a century  to  realize  a sig- 
nificance in  the  choice  of  her  sex.  And  — another  dis- 
covery ! — she  is  not  a hausfrau.  She  is  never  domiciled, 
never  fettered.  Even  the  French,  clever  as  they  are, 
have  not  conceived  her  : equality  and  fraternity  are 
neither  kith  nor  kin  of  hers,  and  she  laughs  at  them  as 
myths  — for  she  is  a laughing  lady.  She  alone  of  the 
three  is  real,  and  she  alone  is  worshipped  for  attributes 
which  she  does  not  possess.  She  is  a coquette,  and  she  is 
never  satisfied.  If  she  were,  she  would  not  be  Liberty : 
if  she  were,  she  would  not  be  worshipped  of  men,  but  de- 
spised. If  they  understood  her,  they  would  not  care  for 
her.  And  finally,  she  comes  not  to  bring  peace,  but  a 
sword. 

At  quarter  to  seven  one  blustery  evening  of  the  April  fol- 
lowing their  fourth  anniversary  Honora  returned  from  New 
York  to  find  her  husband  seated  under  the  tall  lamp  in  the 
room  he  somewhat  facetiously  called  his  “ den,”  scanning 
the  financial  page  of  his  newspaper.  He  was  in  his  dress- 
ing gown,  his  slippered  feet  extended  towards  the  hearth, 
smoking  a cigarette.  And  on  the  stand  beside  him  was 
a cocktail  glass  — empty. 

“ Howard,”  she  cried,  brushing  his  ashes  from  the 
table,  “how  can  you  be  so  untidy  when  you  are  so  good- 

186 


THE  NEW  DOCTRINE 


187 


looking  dressed  up  ? I really  believe  you’re  getting  fat. 
And  there,”  she  added,  critically  touching  a place  on  the 
top  of  his  head,  “ is  a bald  spot ! ” 

“ Anything  else  ? ” he  murmured,  with  his  eyes  still  on 
the  sheet. 

“ Lots,”  answered  Honora,  pulling  down  the  newspaper 
from  before  his  face.  “For  one  thing,  I’m  not  going  to 
allow  you  to  be  a bear  any  more.  I don’t  mean  a Stock 
Exchange  bear,  but  a domestic  bear  — which  is  much 
worse.  You’ve  got  to  notice  me  once  in  a while.  If  you 
don’t,  I’ll  get  another  husband.  That’s  what  women  do 
in  these  days,  you  know,  wrhen  the  one  they  have  doesn’t 
take  the  trouble  to  make  himself  sufficiently  agreeable. 
I’m  sure  I could  get  another  one— -quite  easily,”  she  de- 
clared. 

He  looked  up  at  her  as  she  stood  facing  him  in  the 
lamplight  before  the  fire,  and  was  forced  to  admit  to 
himself  that  the  boast  was  not  wholly  idle.  A smile  was 
on  her  lips,  her  eyes  gleamed  with  health  ; her  furs  — of 
silver  fox  — were  thrown  back,  the  crimson  roses  pinned 
on  her  mauve  afternoon  gown  matched  the  glow  in  her 
cheeks,  while  her  hair  mingled  with  the  dusky  shadows. 
Howard  Spence  experienced  one  of  those  startling,  illumi- 
nating moments  which  come  on  occasions  to  the  busy 
and  self-absorbed  husbands  of  his  nation.  Psychologists 
have  a name  for  such  a phenomenon.  Ten  minutes 
before,  so  far  as  his  thoughts  were  concerned,  she  had  not 
existed,  and  suddenly  she  had  become  a possession  which 
he  had  not,  in  truth,  sufficiently  prized.  Absurd  though 
it  was,  the  possibility  which  she  had  suggested  aroused  in 
him  a slight  uneasiness. 

“ You  are  a deuced  good-looking  woman,  I’ll  say  that 
for  you,  Honora,”  he  admitted. 

“ Thanks,”  she  answered,  mockingly,  and  put  her  hands 
behind  her  back.  “ If  I had  only  known  you  wrere  going 
to  settle  down  in  Rivington  and  get  fat  and  bald  and  wear 
dressing  gowns  and  be  a bear,  I never  should  have  married 
you — never,  never,  never!  Oh,  how  young  and  simple  and 
foolish  I was!  And  the  magnificent  way  you  talked  about 


He  looked  up  at  hee  as  she  stood  facing  him 


THE  NEW  DOCTRINE 


189 


New  York,  and  intimated  that  you  were  going  to  con- 
quer the  world.  I believed  you.  Wasn’t  I a little  idiot 
not  to  know  that  you’d  make  for  a place  like  this  and  dig 
a hole  and  stay  in  it,  and  let  the  world  go  hang  ? ” 

He  laughed,  though  it  was  a poor  attempt.  And  she 
read  in  his  eyes,  which  had  not  left  her  face,  that  he  was 
more  or  less  disturbed. 

“ I treat  you  pretty  well,  don’t  I,  Honora  ? ” he  asked. 
There  was  an  amorous,  apologetic  note  in  his  voice  that 
amused  her,  and  reminded  her  of  the  honeymoon.  “ I 
give  you  all  the  money  you  want  — or  rather  — you  take 
it,  — and  I don’t  kick  up  a row,  except  when  the  market 
goes  to  pieces  — ” 

“ When  you  act  as  though  we’d  have  to  live  in  Harlem 
— which  couldn’t  be  much  worse,”  she  interrupted.  “ And 
you  stay  in  town  all  day  and  have  no  end  of  fun  mak- 
ing money,  — for  you  like  to  make  money,  and  expect  me 
to  amuse  myself  the  best  part  of  my  life  with  a lot  of 
women  who  don’t  know  enough  to  keep  thin.” 

He  laughed  again,  but  still  uneasily.  Honora  was  still 
smiling. 

“ What’s  got  into  you  ? ” he  demanded.  “ I know  you 
don’t  like  Rivington,  but  you  never  broke  loose  this  way 
before.” 

“If  you  stay  here,”  said  Honora,  with  a new  firmness,  “it 
will  be  alone.  I can’t  see  what  you  want  with  a wife,  any- 
way. I’ve  been  thinking  you  over  lately.  I don’t  do  any- 
thing for  you,  except  to  keep  getting  you  cooks  — and 
anybody  could  do  that.  You  don’t  seem  to  need  me  in 
any  possible  way.  All  I do  is  to  loiter  around  the  house 
and  read  and  play  the  piano,  or  go  to  New  York  and  buy 
clothes  for  nobody  to  look  at  except  strangers  in  restau- 
rants. I’m  worth  more  than  that.  I think  I’ll  get  married 
again.” 

“ Great  Lord,  what  are  you  talking  about  ? ” he  ex- 
claimed when  he  got  his  breath. 

“ I think  I’ll  take  a man  next  time,”  she  continued 
calmly,  “ who  has  something  to  him,  some  ambition.  The 
kind  of  man  I thought  I was  getting  when  I took  you  — 


190 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


only  I shouldn’t  be  fooled  again.  Women  remarry  a good 
deal  in  these  days,  and  I’m  beginning  to  see  the  reason 
why.  And  the  women  who  have  done  it  appear  to  be 
perfectly  happy  — much  happier  than  they  were  at  first. 
I saw  one  of  them  at  Lily  Dallam’s  this  afternoon.  She 
was  radiant.  I can’t  see  any  particular  reason  why  a 
woman  should  be  tied  all  her  life  to  her  husband’s  apron 
strings  — or  whatever  he  wears  — and  waste  the  talents 
she  has.  It’s  wicked,  when  she  might  be  the  making  of 
some  man  who  is  worth  something,  and  who  lives  some- 
where.” 

Her  husband  got  up. 

“ Jehosaphat!  ” he  cried,  “ I never  heard  such  talk  in  my 
life.” 

The  idea  that  her  love  for  him  might  have  ebbed  a little, 
or  that  she  would  for  a moment  consider  leaving  him, 
he  rejected  as  preposterous,  of  course  : the  reputation 
which  the  majority  of  her  sex  had  made  throughout  the 
ages  for  constancy  to  the  marriage  tie  was  not  to  be  so 
lightly  dissipated.  Nevertheless,  there  was  in  her  words 
a new  undertone  of  determination  he  had  never  before 
heard  • — or,  at  least,  noticed. 

There  was  one  argument,  or  panacea,  which  had  gener- 
ally worked  like  a charm,  although  some  time  had  elapsed 
since  last  he  had  resorted  to  it.  He  tried  to  seize  and  kiss 
her,  but  she  eluded  him.  At  last  he  caught  her,  out  of 
breath,  in  the  corner  of  the  room. 

“Howard — you’ll  knock  over  the  lamp  — you’ll  ruin 
my  gown  — and  then  you’ll  have  to  buy  me  another.  I 
did  mean  it,”  she  insisted,  holding  back  her  head;  “you’ll 
have  to  choose  between  Rivington  and  me.  It’s  — it’s  an 
ultimatum.  There  were  at  least  three  awfully  attractive 
men  at  Lily  Dallam’s  tea  — I won’t  tell  you  who  they 
were  — who  would  be  glad  to  marry  me  in  a minute.” 

He  drew  her  down  on  the  arm  of  his  chair. 

“Now  that  Lily  has  a house  in  town,”  he  said  weakly, 
“ I suppose  you  think  you’ve  got  to  have  one.” 

“ Oh,  Howard,  it  is  such  a dear  house.  I had  no  idea 
that  so  much  could  be  done  with  so  narrow  a front.  It’s 


THE  NEW  DOCTRINE 


191 


all  French,  with  mirrors  and  big  white  panels  and  satin 
chairs  and  sofas,  and  a carved  gilt  piano  that  she  got  for 
nothing  from  a dealer  she  knows;  and  church  candlesticks. 
The  mirrors  give  it  the  effect  of  being  larger  than  it  really 

is.  I’ve  only  two  criticisms  to  make:  it’s  too  far  from 
Fifth  Avenue,  and  one  can  scarcely  turn  around  in  it  with- 
out knocking  something  down  — a photograph  frame  or  a 
flower  vase  or  one  of  her  spindle-legged  chairs.  It  was 
only  a hideous,  old-fashioned  stone  front  when  she  bought 

it.  I suppose  nobody  but  Reggie  Farwell  could  have 
made  anything  out  of  it.” 

“ Who’s  Reggie  Farwell  ? ” inquired  her  husband. 

“ Howard,  do  you  really  mean  to  say  you’ve  never 
heard  of  Reggie  Farwell  ? Lily  was  so  lucky  to  get  him 

— she  says  he  wouldn’t  have  done  the  house  if  he  hadn’t 
been  such  a friend  of  hers.  And  he  was  coming  to  the 
tea  this  afternoon  — only  something  happened  at  the  last 
minute,  and  he  couldn’t.  She  was  so  disappointed.  He 
built  the  Maitlands’  house,  and  did  over  the  Cecil  Grain- 
gers’. And  he’s  going  to  do  our  house — some  day.” 

u Why  not  right  away  ? ” asked  Howard. 

“ Because  I’ve  made  up  my  mind  to  be  very,  very 
reasonable,”  she  replied.  “ We’re  going  to  Quicksands 
for  a while,  first.” 

“To  Quicksands!”  he  repeated.  But  in  spite  of  him- 
self he  experienced  a feeling  of  relief  that  she  had  not 
demanded  a town  mansion  on  the  spot. 

Honora  sprang  to  her  feet. 

“ Get  up,  Howard,”  she  cried,  “ remember  that  we’re 
going  out  for  dinner  — and  you’ll  never  be  ready.” 

“ Hold  on,”  he  protested,  “ I don’t  know  about  this 
Quicksands  proposition.  Let’s  talk  it  over  a little  more  — ” 

“ We’ll  talk  it  over  another  time,”  she  replied.  “ But 

— remember  my  ultimatum.  And  I am  only  taking  you 
there  for  your  own  good.” 

“ For  my  own  good!  ” 

“Yes.  To  get  you  out  of  a rut.  To  keep  you  from 
becoming  commonplace  and  obscure  and — and  everything 
you  promised  not  to  be  when  you  married  me,”  she  retorted 


192 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


from  the  doorway,  her  eyes  still  alight  with  that  disturb- 
ing and  tantalizing  fire.  “ It  is  my  last  desperate  effort 
as  a wife  to  save  you  from  baldness,  obesity,  and  nonentity.” 
Wherewith  she  disappeared  into  her  room  and  closed  the 
door. 

We  read  of  earthquakes  in  the  tropics  and  at  the  ends 
of  the  earth  with  commiseration,  it  is  true,  yet  with  the 
fond  belief  that  the  ground  on  which  we  have  built  is  so 
firm  that  our  own  lares  and  penates  are  in  no  danger  of 
being  shaken  down.  And  in  the  same  spirit  we  learn  of 
other  people’s  domestic  cataclysms.  Howard  Spence  had 
had  only  a slight  shock,  but  it  frightened  him  and  de- 
stroyed his  sense  of  immunity.  And  during  the  week 
that  followed  he  lacked  the  moral  courage  either  to  dis- 
cuss the  subject  of  Quicksands  thoroughly  or  to  let  it 
alone:  to  put  down  his  foot  like  a Turk  or  accede  like  a 
Crichton. 

Either  course  might  have  saved  him.  One  trouble  with 
the  unfortunate  man  was  that  he  realized  but  dimly  the 
gravity  of  the  crisis.  He  had  laboured  under  the  delusion 
that  matrimonial  conditions  were  still  what  they  had  been  in 
the  Eighteenth  Century  — although  it  is  doubtful  whether 
he  had  ever  thought  of  that  century.  Characteristically, 
he  considered  the  troublesome  affair  chiefly  from  its  busi- 
ness side.  His  ambition,  if  we  may  use  so  large  a word  for 
the  sentiment  that  had  filled  his  breast,  had  been  coincident 
with  his  prenuptial  passion  for  Honora.  And  she  had 
contrived,  after  four  years,  in  some  mysterious  way  to 
stir  up  that  ambition  once  more;  to  make  him  uncomfort- 
able; to  compel  him  to  ask  himself  whether  he  were  not 
sliding  downhill;  to  wonder  whether  living  at  Quicksands 
might  not  bring  him  in  touch  with  important  interests 
which  had  as  yet  eluded  him.  And,  above  all, — if  the 
idea  be  put  a little  more  crudely  and  definitely  than  it  oc- 
curred in  his  thoughts,  — he  awoke  to  the  realization  that 
his  wife  was  an  asset  he  had  hitherto  utterly  neglected. 
Inconceivable  though  it  were  (a  middle-of-the-night  re- 
flection), if  he  insisted  on  trying  to  keep  such  a woman 
bottled  up  in  Rivington  she  might  some  day  pack  up  and 


THE  NEW  DOCTRINE 


193 


leave  him.  One  never  could  tell  what  a woman  would  do 
in  these  days.  Les  sacrees  femmes. 

We  are  indebted  to  Honora  for  this  view  of  her  hus- 
band’s mental  processes.  She  watched  them,  as  it  were, 
through  a glass  in  the  side  of  his  head,  and  incidentally 
derived  infinite  amusement  therefrom.  With  instinctive 
wisdom  she  refrained  from  tinkering. 

An  invitation  to  dine  with  the  Dallams’,  in  their  own 
house,  arrived  a day  or  two  after  the  tea  which  Honora  had 
attended  there.  Although  Lily  had  always  been  cordial, 
Honora  thought  this  note  couched  in  terms  of  unusual 
warmth.  She  was  implored  to  come  early,  because  Lily 
had  so  much  to  talk  to  her  about  which  couldn’t  be 
written  on  account  of  a splitting  headache  In  moderate 
obedience  to  this  summons  Honora  arrived,  on  the  even- 
ing in  question,  before  the  ornamental  ironwork  of  Mrs. 
Dallam’s  front  door  at  a few  minutes  after  seven  o’clock. 
Honora  paused  in  the  spring  twilight  to  contemplate  the 
house,  which  stood  out  incongruously  from  its  sombre, 
brownstone  brothers  and  sisters  with  noisy  basement  kitch- 
ens. The  Third  Avenue  Elevated,  44  so  handy  for  Sid,” 
roared  across  the  gap  scarcely  a block  away ; and  just  as 
the  door  was  opened  the  tightest  of  little  blue  broughams, 
pulled  by  a huge  chestnut  horse  and  driven  by  the  tiniest 
of  grooms  in  top  boots,  drew  up  at  the  curb.  And  out  of 
it  burst  a resplendent  lady  — Mrs.  Dallam. 

44  Oh,  it’s  you,  Honora,”  she  cried.  44  Am  I late  ? I’m 
so  sorry.  But  I just  couldn’t  help  it.  It’s  all  Clara 
Trowbridge’s  fault.  She  insisted  on  my  staying  to  meet 
that  Renee  Labride  who  dances  so  divinely  in  Lady 
Emmeline.  She’s  sweet.  I’ve  seen  her  eight  times.” 
Here  she  took  Honora’s  arm,  and  faced  her  towards  the 
street.  44  What  do  you  think  of  my  turnout  ? Isn’t  he  a 
darling  ? ” 

44  Is  he  — full  grown  ? ” asked  Honora. 

Lilly  Dallam  burst  out  laughing. 

44Bless  you,  I don’t  mean  Patrick,  — although  I had  a 
terrible  time  finding  him.  I mean  the  horse.  Trixy 
Brent  gave  him  to  me  before  he  went  abroad.” 


194 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


“ Gave  him  to  you  ! ” Honora  exclaimed. 

“ Oh,  he’s  always  doing  kind  things  like  that,  and  he 
hadn’t  any  use  for  him.  My  dear,  I hope  you  don’t  think 
for  an  instant  Trixy’s  in  love  with  me  ! He’s  crazy  about 
Lula  Chandos.  I tried  so  hard  to  get  her  to  come  to 
dinner  to-night,  and  the  Trowbridges’  and  the  Barclays’. 
You’ve  no  idea  how  difficult  it  is  in  New  York  to  get  any 
one  under  two  weeks.  And  so  we’ve  got  just  ourselves.” 

Honora  was  on  the  point  of  declaring,  politely,  that  she 
was  very  glad,  when  Lily  Dallam  asked  her  how  she  liked 
the  brougham. 

“ It’s  the  image  of  Mrs.  Cecil  Grainger’s,  my  dear,  and 
I got  it  for  a song.  As  long  as  Trixy  gave  me  the  horse, 
I told  Sid  the  least  he  could  do  was  to  give  me  the 
brougham  and  the  harness.  Is  Master  Sid  asleep  ? ” she 
inquired  of  the  maid  who  had  been  patiently  waiting  at  the 
door.  “ I meant  to  have  got  home  in  time  to  kiss  him.” 

She  led  Honora  up  the  narrow  bat  thickly  carpeted 
stairs  to  a miniature  boudoir,  where  Madame  Adelaide,  in 
a gilt  rococo  frame,  looked  superciliously  down  from  the 
walls. 

“ Why  haven’t  you  been  in  to  see  me  since  my  tea, 
Honora?  You  were  such  a success,  and  after  you  left 
they  were  all  crazy  to  know  something  about  you,  and 
why  they  hadn’t  heard  of  you.  My  dear,  how  much  did 
little  Harris  charge  you  for  that  dress?  If  I had  your 
face  and  neck  and  figure  I’d  die  before  I’d  live  in  Riving- 
ton.  You’re  positively  wasted , Honora.  And  if  you  stay 
there,  no  one  will  look  at  you,  though  you  were  as  beauti- 
ful as  Mrs.  Langtry.” 

“You’re  rather  good-looking  yourself,  Lily,”  said 
Honora. 

“ I’m  ten  years  older  than  you,  my  dear,  and  I have  to 
be  so  careful.  Sid  says  I’m  killing  myself,  but  I’ve  found 
a little  massage  woman  who  is  wonderful.  How  do  you 
like  this  dress  ? ” 

“All  your  things  are  exquisite.” 

“Do  you  think  so?  ” cried  Mrs.  Dallam,  delightedly. 

Honora,  indeed,  had  not  perjured  herself.  Only  the 


THE  NEW  DOCTRINE 


195 


hypercritical,  when  Mrs.  Dallam  was  dressed,  had  the  im- 
pression of  a performed  miracle.  She  was  the  most  fin- 
ished of  finished  products.  Her  complexion  was  high  and 
(be  it  added)  natural,  her  hair  wonderfully  onduled,  and 
she  had  withal  the  sweetest  and  kindest  of  smiles  and  the 
most  engaging  laughter  in  the  world.  It  was  impossible 
not  to  love  her. 

44  Howard,”  she  cried,  when  a little  later  they  were 
seated  at  the  table,  44  how  mean  of  you  to  have  kept  Ho- 
nora  in  a dead  and  alive  place  like  Rivington  all  these 
years  ! I think  she’s  an  angel  to  have  stood  it.  Men  are 
beyond  me.  Do  you  know  what  an  attractive  wife  you’ve 
got  ? I’ve  just  been  telling  her  that  there  wasn’t  a woman 
at  my  tea  who  compared  with  her,  and  the  men  were  crazy 
about  her.” 

44  That’s  the  reason  I live  down  there,”  proclaimed 
Howard,  as  he  finished  his  first  glass  of  champagne. 

44  Honora,”  demanded  Mrs.  Dallam,  ignoring  his  bravado, 
44  why  don’t  you  take  a house  at  Quicksands?  You’d 
love  it,  and  you’d  look  simply  divine  in  a bathing  suit. 
Why  don’t  you  come  down  ? ” 

44  Ask  Howard,”  replied  Honora,  demurely. 

44  W ell,  Lily,  I’ll  own  up  I have  been  considering  it  a 
little,”  that  gentleman  admitted  with  gravity.  44  But  I 
haven’t  decided  anything.  There  are  certain  draw- 
backs — ” 

44  Drawbacks  !”  exclaimed  Mrs.  Dallam.  44  Drawbacks  at 
Quicksands  ! I’d  like  to  know  what  they  are.  Don’t  be 
silly,  Howard.  You  get  more  for  your  money  there  than 
any  place  I know.”  Suddenly  the  light  of  an  inspiration 
came  into  her  eyes,  and  she  turned  to  her  husband.  44  Sid, 
the  Alfred  Fern  house  is  for  rent,  isn’t  it?  ” 

44 1 think  it  must  be,  Lily,”  replied  Mr.  Dallam. 

“Sometimes  I believe  I’m  losing  my  mind,”  declared 
Mrs.  Dallam.  44  What  an  imbecile  I was  not  to  think  of 
it!  It’s  a dear , Honora,  not  five  minutes  from  the  Club, 
with  the  sweetest  furniture,  and  they  just  finished  it  last 
fall.  It  would  be  positively  wicked  not  to  take  it,  Howard. 
They  couldn’t  have  failed  more  opportunely.  I’m  sorry 


196 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


for  Alfred,  but  I always  thought  Louise  Fern  a little  snob. 
Sid,  you  must  see  Alfred  down  town  the  first  thing  in  the 
morning  and  ask  him  what’s  the  least  he’ll  rent  it  for. 
Tell  him  I wish  to  know.” 

“ But  — my  dear  Lily  — ” began  Mr.  Dallam  apologeti- 
cally. 

“There!  ” complained  his  wife,  “ you’re  always  raising 
objections  to  my  most  charming  and  sensible  plans.  You 
act  as  though  you  wanted  Honora  and  Howard  to  stay  in 
Rivington.” 

“ My  dear  Lily!  ” he  protested  again.  And  words  fail- 
ing him,  he  sought  by  a gesture  to  disclaim  such  a sinister 
motive  for  inaction. 

“ What  harm  can  it  do  ? ” she  asked  plaintively.  “ How- 
ard doesn’t  have  to  rent  the  house,  although  it  would  be  a 
sin  if  he  didn’t.  Find  out  the  rent  in  the  morning,  Sid, 
and  we’ll  all  four  go  down  on  Sunday  and  look  at  it,  and 
lunch  at  the  Quicksands  Club.  I’m  sure  I can  get  out  of 
my  engagement  at  Laura  Dean’s  — this  is  so  important.! 
What  do  you  say,  Honora  ? ” 

“ I think  it  would  be  delightful,”  said  Honora. 


CHAPTER  Y 


QUICKSANDS 

To  convey  any  adequate  idea  of  the  community  famil- 
iarly known  as  Quicksands  a cinematograph  were  neces- 
sary. With  a pen  we  can  only  approximate  the  appearance 
of  the  shifting  grains  at  any  one  time.  Some  households 
there  were,  indeed,  which  maintained  a precarious  though 
seemingly  miraculous  footing  on  the  surface,  or  near  it, 
going  under  for  mere  brief  periods,  only  to  rise  again  and 
flaunt  men-servants  in  the  face  of  Providence. 

There  were  real  tragedies,  too,  although  a casual  visitor 
would  never  have  guessed  it.  For  tragedies  sink,  and 
that  is  the  end  of  them.  The  cinematograph,  to  be  sure, 
would  reveal  one  from  time  to  time,  coming  like  a shadow 
across  an  endless  feast,  and  gone  again  in  a flash.  Such 
was  what  might  appropriately  be  called  the  episode  of  the 
Alfred  Ferns.  After  three  years  of  married  life  they  had 
come,  they  had  rented;  the  market  had  gone  up,  they  had 
bought  and  built  — upon  the  sands.  The  ancient  farm- 
house which  had  stood  on  the  site  had  been  torn  down  as 
unsuited  to  a higher  civilization,  although  the  great  elms 
which  had  sheltered  it  had  been  left  standing,  in  grave 
contrast  to  the  twisted  cedars  and  stunted  oaks  so  much 
in  evidence  round  about. 

The  Ferns  — or  rather  little  Mrs.  Fern — had  had  taste, 
and  the  new  house  reflected  it.  As  an  indication  of  the 
quality  of  imagination  possessed  by  the  owners,  the  place 
was  called  44  The  Brackens.”  There  was  a long  porch  on 
the  side  of  the  ocean,  but  a view  of  the  water  was  shut  off 
from  it  by  a hedge  which,  during  the  successive  owner- 
ships of  the  adjoining  property,  had  attained  a height  of 
twelve  feet.  There  was  a little  toy  greenhouse  connect- 

197 


198 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


ing  with  the  porch  (an  “ economy  ” indulged  in  when  the 
market  had  begun  to  go  the  wrong  way  for  Mr.  Fern). 
Exile,  although  unpleasant,  was  sometimes  found  necessary 
at  Quicksands,  and  even  effective. 

Above  all  things,  however,  if  one  is  describing  Quick- 
sands, one  must  not  be  depressing.  That  is  the  unforgive- 
able  sin  there.  Hence  we  must  touch  upon  these  tragedies 
lightly. 

If,  after  walking  through  the  entrance  in  the  hedge 
that  separated  the  Brackens  from  the  main  road,  you 
turned  to  the  left  and  followed  a driveway  newly  laid  out 
between  young  poplars,  you  came  to  a mass  of  cedars. 
Behind  these  was  hidden  the  stable.  There  were  four 
stalls,  all  replete  with  brass  trimmings,  and  a box,  and  the 
carriage-house  was  made  large  enough  for  the  break  which 
Mr.  Fern  had  been  getting  ready  to  buy  when  he  had 
been  forced,  so  unexpectedly,  to  change  his  mind. 

If  the  world  had  been  searched,  perhaps,  no  greater 
contrast  to  Rivington  could  have  been  found  than  this 
delightful  colony  of  Quicksands,  full  of  life  and  motion 
and  colour,  where  everybody  was  beautifully  dressed  and 
enjoying  themselves.  For  a whole  week  after  her  instal- 
ment Honora  was  in  a continual  state  of  excitement  and 
anticipation,  and  the  sound  of  wheels  and  voices  on  the 
highroad  beyond  the  hedge  sent  her  peeping  to  her  cur- 
tains a dozen  times  a day.  The  waking  hours,  instead  of 
burdens,  were  so  many  fleeting  joys.  In  the  morning  she 
awoke  to  breathe  a new,  perplexing,  and  delicious  perfume 
— the  salt  sea  breeze  stirring  her  curtains  : later,  she  was 
on  the  gay,  yellow-ochre  beach  with  Lily  Dallam,  making 
new  acquaintances;  and  presently  stepping,  with  a quiver 
of  fear  akin  to  delight,  into  the  restless,  limitless  blue 
water  that  stretched  southward  under  a milky  haze  : 
luncheon  somewhere,  more  new  acquaintances,  and  then, 
perhaps,  in  Lily’s  light  wood  victoria  to  meet  the  train  of 
trains.  For  at  half-past  five  the  little  station,  forlorn  all 
day  long  in  the  midst  of  the  twisted  cedars  that  grew  out 
of  the  heated  sand,  assumed  an  air  of  gayety  and  anima- 
tion. Vehicles  of  all  sorts  drew  up  in  the  open  space 


QUICKSANDS 


199 


before  it,  wagonettes,  phaetons,  victorias,  high  wheeled 
hackney  carts,  and  low  Hempstead  carts  : women  in  white 
summer  gowns  and  veils  compared  notes,  or  shouted  in- 
vitations to  dinner  from  carriage  to  carriage.  The  engine 
rolled  in  with  a great  cloud  of  dust,  the  horses  danced,  the 
husbands  and  the  overnight  guests,  grimy  and  brandishing 
evening  newspapers,  poured  out  of  the  special  car  where 
they  had  sat  in  arm-chairs  and  talked  stocks  all  the  way 
from  Long  Island  City.  Some  were  driven  home,  it  is 
true;  some  to  the  beach,  and  others  to  the  Quicksands 
Club,  where  they  continued  their  discussions  over  whiskey- 
and-sodas  until  it  was  time  to  have  a cocktail  and  dress 
for  dinner. 

Then  came  the  memorable  evening  when  Lily  Dallam 
gave  a dinner  in  honour  of  Honora,  her  real  introduction 
to  Quicksands.  It  was  characteristic  of  Lily  that  her 
touch  made  the  desert  bloom.  Three  years  before  Quick- 
sands had  gasped  to  hear  that  the  Sidney  Dallams  had 
bought  the  Faraday  house  — or  rather  what  remained  of 
it. 

“We  got  it  for  nothing,”  Lily  explained  triumphantly 
on  the  occasion  of  Honora’s  first  admiring  view.  “No- 
body would  look  at  it,  my  dear.” 

It  must  have  been  this  first  price,  undoubtedly,  that 
appealed  to  Sidney  Dallam,  model  for  all  husbands:  to 
Sidney,  who  had  had  as  much  of  an  idea  of  buying 
in  Quicksands  as  of  acquiring  a Scotch  shooting  box. 
The  “Faraday  place”  had  belonged  to  the  middle  ages, 
as  time  is  reckoned  in  Quicksands,  and  had  lain  deserted 
for  years,  chiefly  on  account  of  its  lugubrious  and  funereal 
aspect.  It  was  on  a corner.  Two  “ for  rent  ” signs  had 
fallen  successively  from  the  overgrown  hedge:  some  fifty 
feet  back  from  the  road,  hidden  by  undergrowth  and  in 
the  tenebrous  shades  of  huge  larches  and  cedars,  stood  a 
hideous,  two-storied  house  with  a mansard  roof,  once 
painted  dark  red. 

The  magical  transformation  of  all  this  into  a sunny, 
smiling,  white  villa  with  red-striped  awnings  and  well- 
kept  lawns  and  just  enough  shade  had  done  no  little 


200 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


towards  giving  to  Lily  Dallam  that  ascendency  which  she 
had  acquired  with  such  startling  rapidity  in  the  commu- 
nity. When  Honora  and  Howard  drove  up  to  the  door 
in  the  deepening  twilight,  every  window  was  a yellow, 
blazing  square,  and  above  the  sound  of  voices  rose  a waltz 
from  “ Lady  Emmeline  ” played  with  vigour  on  the  piano. 
Lily  Dallam  greeted  Honora  in  the  little  room  which 
(for  some  unexplained  reason)  was  known  as  the  library, 
pressed  into  service  at  dinner  parties  as  the  ladies’  dress- 
ing room. 

“ My  dear,  how  sweet  you  look  in  that  coral ! I’ve 
been  so  lucky  to-night,”  she  added  in  Honora’s  ear;  “ I’ve 
actually  got  Trixy  Brent  for  you.” 

Our  heroine  was  conscious  of  a pleasurable  palpitation 
as  she  walked  with  her  hostess  across  the  little  entry  to 
the  door  of  the  drawing-room,  where  her  eyes  encountered 
an  inviting  and  vivacious  scene.  Some  ten  or  a dozen 
guests,  laughing  and  talking  gayly,  filled  the  spaces  be- 
tween the  furniture ; an  upright  piano  was  embedded  in  a 
corner,  and  the  lady  who  had  just  executed  the  waltz  had 
swung  around  on  the  stool,  and  was  smiling  up  at  a man 
who  stood  beside  her  with  his  hand  in  his  pocket.  She 
was  a decided  brunette,  neither  tall  nor  short,  with  a sug- 
gestion of  plumpness. 

“ That’s  Lula  Chandos,”  explained  Lily  Dallam  in  her 
usual  staccato,  following  Honora’s  gaze,  “ at  the  piano,  in 
ashes  of  roses.  She’s  stopped  mourning  for  her  husband. 
Trixy  told  her  to-night  she’d  discarded  the  sackcloth  and 
kept  the  ashes.  He’s  awfully  clever.  I don’t  wonder  that 
she’s  crazy  about  him,  do  you  ? He’s  standing  beside  her.” 

Honora  took  a good  look  at  the  famous  Trixy,  who  re- 
sembled a certain  type  of  military  Englishman.  He  had 
close-cropped  hair  and  a close-cropped  mustache  ; and 
his  grey  eyes,  as  they  rested  amusedly  on  Mrs.  Chandos, 
seemed  to  have  in  them  the  light  of  mockery. 

“ Trixy ! ” cried  his  hostess,  threading  her  way  with 
considerable  skill  across  the  room  and  dragging  Honora 
after  her,  “ Trixy,  I want  to  introduce  you  to  Mrs.  Spence. 
Now  aren’t  you  glad  you  came  ! ” 


QUICKSANDS 


201 


It  was  partly,  no  doubt,  by  such  informal  introductions 
that  Lily  Dallam  had  made  her  reputation  as  the  mistress 
of  a house  where  one  and  all  had  such  a good  time.  Ho- 
nora,  of  course,  blushed  to  her  temples,  and  everybody 
laughed  — even  Mrs.  Chandos. 

“ Glad,”  said  Mr.  Brent,  with  his  eyes  on  Honora,  “ does 
not  quite  express  it.  You  usually  have  a supply  of  su- 
perlatives, Lily,  which  you  might  have  drawn  on.” 

“ Isn’t  he  irrepressible  ? ” demanded  Lily  Dallam,  de- 
lightedly, “ he’s  always  teasing.” 

It  was  running  through  Honora’s  mind,  while  Lily 
Dallam’s  characteristic  introductions  of  the  other  guests 
were  in  progress,  that  “ irrepressible  ” was  an  inaccurate 
word  to  apply  to  Mr.  Brent’s  manner.  Honora  could  not 
define  his  attitude,  but  she  vaguely  resented  it.  All  of 
Lily’s  guests  had  the  air  of  being  at  home,  and  at  that 
moment  a young  gentleman  named  Charley  Goodwin,  who 
was  six  feet  tall  and  weighed  two  hundred  pounds,  was 
loudly  demanding  cocktails.  They  were  presently  brought 
by  a rather  harassed-looking  man-servant. 

“ I can’t  get  over  how  well  you  look  in  that  gown,  Lula,” 
declared  Mrs.  Dallam,  as  they  went  out  to  dinner.  “ Trixy, 
what  does  she  remind  you  of  ? ” 

“ Cleopatra,”  cried  Warry  Trowbridge,  with  an  attempt 
to  be  gallant. 

“ Eternal  vigilance,”  said  Mr.  Brent,  and  they  sat  down 
amidst  the  laughter,  Lily  Dallam  declaring  that  he  was 
horrid,  and  Mrs.  Chandos  giving  him  a look  of  tender 
reproach.  But  he  turned  abruptly  to  Honora,  who  was 
on  his  other  side. 

“ Where  did  you  drop  down  from,  Mrs.  Spence  ? ” he 
inquired. 

“ Why  do  you  take  it  for  granted  that  I have  dropped  ? ” 
she  asked  sweetly. 

He  looked  at  her  queerly  for  a moment,  and  then  burst 
out  laughing. 

“ Because  you  are  sitting  next  to  Lucifer,”  he  said. 
“ It’s  kind  of  me  to  warn  you,  isn’t  it  ? ” 

“ It  wasn’t  necessary,”  replied  Honora.  “ And  besides, 


202 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


as  a dinner  companion,  I imagine  Lucifer  couldn’t  be  im- 
proved on.” 

He  laughed  again. 

“ As  a dinner  companion ! ” he  repeated.  44  So  you 
would  limit  Lucifer  to  dinners?  That’s  rather  a severe 
punishment,  since  we’re  neighbours.” 

44  How  delightful  to  have  Lucifer  as  one’s  neighbour,” 
said  Honora,  avoiding  his  eyes.  44  Of  course  I’ve  been 
brought  up  to  believe  that  he  was  always  next  door,  so  to 
speak,  but  I’ve  never  had  any  proof  of  it  until  now.” 

“ Proof  ! ” echoed  Mr.  Brent.  44  Has  my  reputation 
gone  before  me  ? ” 

44 1 smell  the  brimstone,”  said  Honora. 

He  derived,  apparently,  infinite  amusement  from  this 
remark  likewise. 

44  If  I had  known  I was  to  have  the  honour  of  sitting 
here,  I should  have  used  another  perfume,”  he  replied. 
44 1 have  several.” 

It  was  Honora’s  turn  to  laugh. 

44  They  are  probably  for  — - commercial  transactions,  not 
for  ladies,”  she  retorted.  44  We  are  notoriously  fond  of 
brimstone,  if  it  is  not  too  strong.  A suspicion  of  it.” 

Her  colour  was  high,  and  she  was  surprised  at  her  own 
vivacity.  It  seemed  strange  that  she  should  be  holding 
her  own  in  this  manner  with  the  renowned  Trixton  Brent. 
No  wonder,  after  four  years  of  Rivington,  that  she  tingled 
with  an  unwonted  excitement. 

At  this  point  Mr.  Brent’s  eye  fell  upon  Howard,  who 
was  explaining  something  to  Mrs.  Trowbridge  at  the  far 
end  of  the  table. 

44  What’s  your  husband  like  ? ” he  demanded  abruptly. 

Honora  was  a little  taken  aback,  but  recovered  suffi- 
ciently to  retort : — 

44  You’d  hardly  expect  me  to  give  you  an  unprejudiced 
judgment.” 

44  That’s  true,”  he  agreed  significantly. 

44  He’s  everything,”  added  Honora,  44  that  is  to  be  ex- 
pected in  a husband.” 

44  Which  isn’t  much,  in  these  days,”  declared  Mr.  Brent. 


QUICKSANDS 


203 


“ On  the  contrary,”  said  Honora. 

“ What  I should  like  to  know  is  why  you  came  to 
Quicksands,”  said  Mr.  Brent. 

“For  a little  excitement,”  she  replied.  “ So  far,  I have 
not  been  disappointed.  But  why  do  you  ask  that  ques- 
tion ? ” she  demanded,  with  a slight  uneasiness.  “ Why 
did  you  come  here  ? ” 

“ Oh,”  he  said,  “ you  must  remember  that  I’m  — Lucifer, 
a citizen  of  the  world,  at  home  anywhere,  a sort  of  free- 
booter. I’m  not  here  all  the  time  — but  that’s  no  reflec- 
tion on  Quicksands.  May  I make  a bet  with  you,  Mrs. 
Spence  ? ” 

“ What  about  ? ” 

“That  you  won’t  stay  in  Quicksands  more  than  six 
months,”  he  answered. 

“ Why  do  you  say  that  ? ” she  asked  curiously. 

He  shook  his  head. 

“ My  experience  with  your  sex,”  he  declared  enigmati- 
cally, “has  not  been  a slight  one.” 

“ Trixy ! ” interrupted  Mrs.  Chandos  at  this  juncture, 
from  his  other  side,  “Warry  Trowbridge  won’t  tell  me 
whether  to  sell  my  Consolidated  Potteries  stock.” 

“ Because  he  doesn’t  know,”  said  Mr.  Brent,  laconically, 
and  readdressed  himself  to  Honora,  who  had,  however, 
caught  a glimpse  of  Mrs.  Chandos’  face. 

“ Don’t  you  think  it’s  time  for  you  to  talk  to  Mrs.  Chan- 
dos ? ” she  asked. 

“ What  for  ? ” 

“ Well,  for  one  reason,  it  is  customary,  out  of  considera- 
tion for  the  hostess,  to  assist  in  turning  the  table.” 

“ Lily  doesn’t  care,”  he  said. 

“ How  about  Mrs.  Chandos  ? I have  an  idea  that  she 
does  care.” 

He  made  a gesture  of  indifference. 

“ And  how  about  me  ? ” Honora  continued.  “ Perhaps 
— I’d  like  to  talk  to  Mr.  Dallam.” 

“ Have  you  ever  tried  it  ? ” he  demanded. 

Over  her  shoulder  she  flashed  back  at  him  a glance  which 
he  did  not  return.  She  had  never,  to  tell  the  truth,  given 


204 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


her  husband’s  partner  much  consideration.  He  had  existed 
in  her  mind  solely  as  an  obliging  shopkeeper  with  whom 
Lily  had  unlimited  credit,  and  who  handed  her  over  the 
counter  such  things  as  she  desired.  And  to-night,  in 
contrast  to  Trixton  Brent,  Sidney  Dallam  suggested  the 
counter  more  than  ever  before.  He  was  about  five  and 
forty,  small,  neatly  made,  with  little  hands  and  feet ; fast 
growing  bald,  and  wrhat  hair  remained  to  him  was  a jet 
black.  His  suavity  of  manner  and  anxious  desire  to 
give  one  just  the  topic  that  pleased  had  always  irritated 
Honora. 

Good  shopkeepers  are  not  supposed  to  have  any  tastes, 
predilections,  or  desires  of  their  own,  and  it  was  therefore 
with  no  little  surprise  that,  after  many  haphazard  attempts, 
Honora  discovered  Mr.  Dallam  to  be  possessed  by  one  all- 
absorbing  weakness.  She  had  fallen  in  love,  she  remarked, 
with  little  Sid  on  the  beach,  and  Sidney  Dallam  suddenly 
became  transfigured.  Was  she  fond  of  children  ? Honora 
coloured  a little,  and  said  “ yes.”  He  confided  to  her,  with 
an  astonishing  degree  of  feeling,  that  it  had  been  the  regret 
of  his  life  he  had  not  had  more  children.  Nobody,  he  im- 
plied, who  came  to  his  house  had  ever  exhibited  the  proper 
interest  in  Sid. 

“ Sometimes,”  he  said,  leaning  towards  her  confidentially, 
“ I slip  upstairs  for  a little  peep  at  him  after  dinner.” 

“ Oh,”  cried  Honora,  “if  you’re  going  to-night  mayn’t  ] 
go  with  you  ? I’d  love  to  see  him  in  bed.” 

“ Of  course  I’ll  take  you,”  said  Sidney  Dallam,  and  he 
looked  at  her  so  gratefully  that  she  coloured  again. 

“ Honora,”  said  Lily  Dallam,  when  the  women  were  back 
in  the  drawing-room,  “ what  did  you  do  to  Sid?  You  had 
him  beaming  — and  he  hates  dinner  parties.” 

“We  were  talking  about  children,”  replied  Honora, 
innocently. 

“ Children ! ” 

“Yes,”  said  Honora,  “and  your  husband  has  promised 
to  take  me  up  to  the  nursery.” 

“ And  did  you  talk  to  Trixy  about  children,  too  ? ” cried 
Lily,  laughing,  with  a mischievous  glance  at  Mrs.  Chandos. 


QUICKSANDS 


205 


“ Is  he  interested  in  them  ? ” asked  Honora. 

“Yon  dear!”  cried  Lily,  “you’ll  be  the  death  of  me. 
Lula,  Honora  wants  to  know  whether  Trixy  is  interested 
in  children.” 

Mrs.  Chandos,  in  the  act  of  lighting  a cigarette,  smiled 
sweetly. 

“Apparently  he  is,”  she  said. 

“ It’s  time  he  were,  if  he’s  ever  going  to  be,”  said  Honora, 
just  as  sweetly. 

Everybody  laughed  but  Mrs.  Chandos,  who  began  to 
betray  an  intense  interest  in  some  old  lace  in  the  corner  of 
the  room. 

“ I bought  it  for  nothing,  my  dear,”  said  Mrs.  Dallam, 
but  she  pinched  Honora’s  arm  delightedly.  “ How  wicked 
of  you  !”  she  whispered,  “but  it  serves  her  right.” 

In  the  midst  of  the  discussion  of  clothes  and  house  rents 
and  other  people’s  possessions,  interspersed  with  anecdotes 
of  a kind  that  was  new  to  Honora,  Sidney  Dallam  appeared 
at  the  door  and  beckoned  to  her. 

“ How  silly  of  you,  Sid ! ” exclaimed  his  wife;  “ of  course 
she  doesn’t  want  to  go.” 

“ Indeed  I do,”  protested  Honora,  rising  with  alacrity 
and  following  her  host  up  the  stairs.  At  the  end  of  a 
hallway  a nurse,  who  had  been  reading  beside  a lamp,  got 
up  smilingly  and  led  the  way  on  tiptoe  into  the  nursery, 
turning  on  a shaded  electric  light.  Honora  bent  over  the 
crib.  The  child  lay,  as  children  will,  with  his  little  yellow 
head  resting  on  his  arm.  But  in  a moment,  as  she  stood 
gazing  at  him,  he  turned  and  opened  his  eyes  and  smiled 
at  her,  and  she  stooped  and  kissed  him. 

“ Where’s  Daddy  ? ” he  demanded. 

“We’ve  waked  him  !”  said  Honora,  remorsefully. 

“ Daddy,”  said  the  child,  “ tell  me  a story.” 

The  nurse  looked  at  Dallam  reproachfully,  as  her  duty 
demanded,  and  yet  she  smiled.  The  noise  of  laughter 
reached  them  from  below. 

“ I didn’t  have  any  to-night,”  the  child  pleaded. 

“ I got  home  late,”  Dallam  explained  to  Honora,  and, 
looking  at  the  nurse,  pleaded  in  his  turn  ; “just  one.” 


206 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


“ Just  a tiny  one,”  said  the  child. 

“ It’s  against  all  rules,  Mr.  Dallam,”  said  the  nurse, 
“but  — he’s  been  very  lonesome  to-day.” 

Dallam  sat  down  on  one  side  of  him,  Honora  on  the 
other. 

“ Will  you  go  to.  sleep  right  away  if  I do,  Sid  ? ” he 
asked. 

The  child  shut  his  eyes  very  tight. 

“ Like  that,”  he  promised. 

It  was  not  the  Sidney  Dallam  of  the  counting-room  who 
told  that  story,  and  Honora  listened  with  strange  sensa- 
tions which  she  did  not  attempt  to  define. 

“ I used  to  be  fond  of  that  one  when  I was  a youngster,” 
he  explained  apologetically  to  her  as  they  went  out,  and 
little  Sid  had  settled  himself  obediently  on  the  pillow  once 
more.  “ It  was  when  I dreamed,”  he  added,  “ of  less  pro- 
saic occupations  than  the  stock  market.” 

Sidney  Dallam  had  dreamed  ! 

Although  Lily  Dallam  had  declared  that  to  leave  her 
house  before  midnight  was  to  insult  her,  it  was  half -past 
eleven  when  Honora  and  her  husband  reached  home.  He 
halted  smilingly  in  her  doorway  as  she  took  off  her  wrap 
and  laid  it  over  a chair. 

“Well,  Honora,”  he  asked,  “how  do  you  like  — the 
whirl  of  fashion  ? ” 

She  turned  to  him  with  one  of  those  rapid  and  bewilder- 
ing movements  that  sometimes  characterized  her,  and  put 
her  arms  on  his  shoulders. 

“What  a dear  old  stay-at-home  you  were,  Howard,” 
she  said.  “ I wonder  what  would  have  happened  to  you 
if  I hadn’t  rescued  you  in  the  nick  of  time  ! Own  up  that 
you  like  — a little  variet}r  in  life.” 

Being  a man,  he  qualified  his  approval. 

“ I didn’t  have  a bad  time,”  he  admitted.  “ I had  a 
talk  with  Brent  after  dinner,  and  I think  I’ve  got  him 
interested  in  a little  scheme.  It’s  a strange  thing  that 
Sid  Dallam  was  never  able  to  do  any  business  with  him. 
If  I can  put  this  through,  coming  to  Quicksands  will 
have  been  worth  while.”  He  paused  a moment,  and 


QUICKSANDS  207 

added : “ Brent  seems  to  have  taken  quite  a shine  to  you, 
Honora.” 

She  dropped  her  arms,  and  going  over  to  her  dressing 
table,  unclasped  a pin  on  the  front  of  her  gown. 

“I  imagine,”  she  answered,  in  an  indifferent  tone,  “that 
he  acts  so  with  every  new  woman  he  meets.” 

Howard  remained  for  a while  in  the  doorway,  seemingly 
about  to  speak.  Then  he  turned  on  his  heel,  and  she 
heard  him  go  into  his  own  room. 

Far  into  the  night  she  lay  awake,  the  various  incidents 
of  the  evening,  like  magic  lantern  views,  thrown  with  be- 
wildering rapidity  on  the  screen  of  her  mind.  At  last 
she  was  launched  into  life,  and  the  days  of  her  isolation 
gone  by  forever.  She  was  in  the  centre  of  things.  And 
yet  — well,  nothing  could  be  perfect.  Perhaps  she  de- 
manded too  much.  Once  or  twice,  in  the  intimate  and 
somewhat  uproarious  badinage  that  had  been  tossed  back 
and  forth  in  the  drawing-room  after  dinner,  her  delicacy 
had  been  offended:  an  air  of  revelry  had  prevailed,  en- 
hanced by  the  arrival  of  whiskey-and-soda  on  a tray.  And 
at  the  time  she  had  been  caught  up  by  an  excitement  in 
the  grip  of  which  she  still  found  herself.  She  had  been 
aware,  as  she  tried  to  talk  to  Warren  Trowbridge,  of 
Trixton  Brent’s  glance,  and  of  a certain  hostility  from 
Mrs.  Chandos  that  caused  her  now  to  grow  warm  with  a 
kind  of  shame  when  she  thought  of  it.  But  she  could  not 
deny  that  this  man  had  for  her  a fascination.  There  was 
in  him  an  insolent  sense  of  power,  of  scarcely  veiled  con- 
tempt for  the  company  in  which  he  found  himself.  And 
she  asked  herself,  in  this  mood  of  introspection,  whether 
a little  of  his  contempt  for  Lily  Dallam’s  guests  had  not 
been  communicated  from  him  to  her. 

When  she  had  risen  to  leave,  he  had  followed  her  into 
the  entry.  She  recalled  him  vividly  as  he  had  stood  be- 
fore her  then,  a cigar  in  one  hand  and  a lighted  match  in 
the  other,  his  eyes  fixed  upon  her  with  a singularly  dis- 
quieting look  that  was  tinged,  however,  with  amusement. 

“I’m  coming  to  see  you,”  he  announced. 

“Do  be  careful,”  she  had  cried,  “you’ll  burn  yourself  ! ” 


208 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


“That,”  he  answered,  tossing  away  the  match,  “is  to  be 
expected.” 

She  laughed  nervously. 

“ Good  night,”  he  added,  “ and  remember  my  bet.” 
What  could  he  have  meant  when  he  had  declared  that 
she  would  not  remain  in  Quicksands  ? 


CHAPTER  VI 


GAD  AND  MENI 

There  was  an  orthodox  place  of  worship  at  Quicksands, 
a temple  not  merely  opened  up  for  an  hour  or  so  on  Sun- 
day mornings  to  be  shut  tight  during  the  remainder  of  the 
week  although  it  was  thronged  with  devotees  on  the  Sab- 
bath. This  temple,  of  course,  was  the  Quicksands  Club. 
Howard  Spence  was  quite  orthodox  ; and,  like  some  of 
our  Puritan  forefathers,  did  not  even  come  home  to  the 
midday  meal  on  the  first  day  of  the  week.  But  a certain 
instinct  of  protest  and  of  nonconformity  which  may  have 
been  remarked  in  our  heroine  sent  her  to  St.  Andrews-by- 
the-Sea  — by  no  means  so  well  attended  as  the  house  of 
Gad  and  Meni.  She  walked  home  in  a pleasantly  con- 
templative state  of  mind  through  a field  of  daisies,  and 
had  just  arrived  at  the  hedge  in  front  of  the  Brackens 
when  the  sound  of  hoofs  behind  her  caused  her  to  turn. 
Mr.  Trixton  Brent,  very  firmly  astride  of  a restive,  flea- 
bitten  polo  pony,  surveyed  her  amusedly. 

“ Where  have  you  been  ? ” said  he. 

uTo  church,”  replied  Honora,  demurely. 

“ Such  virtue  is  unheard  of  in  Quicksands.” 

“It  isn’t  virtue,”  said  Honora. 

“ I had  my  doubts  about  that,  too,”  he  declared. 

“ What  is  it,  then  ? ” she  asked  laughingly,  wondering 
why  he  had  such  a faculty  of  stirring  her  excitement  and 
interest. 

“ Dissatisfaction,”  was  his  prompt  reply. 

“ I don’t  see  why  you. say  that,”  she  protested. 

“ I’m  prepared  to  make  my  wager  definite,”  said  he. 
“ The  odds  are  a thoroughbred  horse  against  a personally 

209 


p 


210 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


knitted  worsted  waistcoat  that  you  won’t  stay  in  Quick- 
sands six  months.” 

“ I wish  you  wouldn’t  talk  nonsense,”  said  Honora, 

“and  besides,  I can’t 
knit.” 

There  was  a short 
silence  during  which 
he  didn’t  relax  his 
disconcerting  stare. 

“ Won’t  you  come 
in?”  she  asked. 
“ I’m  sorry  Howard 
isn’t  home.” 

“ I’m  not,”  he  said 
promptly.  “ Can’t 
you  come  over  to  my 
box  for  lunch?  I’ve 
asked  Lula  Chandos 
and  Warry  Trow- 
bridge.” 

It  was  not  with- 
out appropriateness 
that  Trixton  Brent 
called  his  house  the 
“Box.”  It  was 
square,  with  no  pre- 
tensions to  architec- 
ture whatever,  with 
a porch  running  all  the  way  around  it.  And  it  was  liter- 
ally filled  with  the  relics  of  the  man’s  physical  prowess  : 
cups  for  games  of  all  descriptions,  heads  and  skins  from  the 
Bitter  Roots  to  Bengal,  and  masks  and  brushes  from  Eng- 
land. To  Honora  there  was  an  irresistible  and  mysterious 
fascination  in  all  these  trophies,  each  suggesting  a finished 
— and  some  perhaps  a cruel  — performance  of  the  man 
himself.  The  cups  were  polished  until  they  beat  back  the 
light  like  mirrors,  and  the  glossy  bear  and  tiger  skins  gave 
no  hint  of  dying  agonies. 

Mr.  Brent’s  method  with  women,  Honora  observed, 


GAD  AND  MENI 


211 


more  resembled  the  noble  sport  of  Isaac  Walton  than  that 
of  Nimrod,  but  she  could  not  deny  that  this  element  of 
cruelty  was  one  of  his  fascinations.  It  was  very  evident 
to  a feminine  observer,  for  instance,  that  Mrs.  Chandos 
was  engaged  in  a breathless  and  altogether  desperate 
struggle  with  the  slow  but  inevitable  and  appalling 
Nemesis  of  a body  and  character  that  would  not  har- 
monize. If  her  figure  grew  stout,  what  was  to  become 
of  her  charm  as  an  enfant  gate  ? Her  host  not  only  per- 
ceived, but  apparently  derived  great  enjoyment  out  of 
the  drama  of  this  contest.  From  self-indulgence  to  self- 
denial — even  though  inspired  by  terror  — is  a far  cry. 
And  Trixton  Brent  had  evidently  prepared  his  menu 
with  a Satanic  purpose. 

“ What!  No  entree,  Lula  ? I had  that  sauce  especially 
for  you.” 

“ Oh,  Trixy,  did  you  really  ? How  sweet  of  you  ! ” And 
her  liquid  eyes  regarded,  with  an  almost  equal  affection, 
first  the  master  and  then  the  dish.  “ I’ll  take  a little,”  she 
said  weakly;  “it’s  so  bad  for  my  gout.” 

“ What,  ” asked  Trixton  Brent,  flashing  an  amused 
glance  at  Honora,  “ are  the  symptoms  of  gout,  Lula  ? I 
hear  a great  deal  about  that  trouble  these  days,  but  it 
seems  to  affect  every  one  differently.” 

Mrs.  Chandos  grew  very  red,  but  Warry  Trowbridge 
saved  her. 

“ It’s  a swelling,”  he  said  innocently. 

Brent  threw  back  his  head  and  laughed. 

“ You  haven’t  got  it  anyway,  Warry,”  he  cried. 

Mr.  Trowbridge,  who  resembled  a lean  and  greying  Irish 
terrier,  maintained  that  he  had. 

“It’s  a pity  you  don’t  ride,  Lula.  I understand  that 
that’s  one  of  the  best  preventives — for  gout.  I bought 
a horse  last  week  that  would  just  suit  you  — an  ideal 
woman’s  horse.  He’s  taken  a couple  of  blue  ribbons  this 
summer.” 

“I  hope  you  will  show  him  to  us,  Mr.  Brent,”  ex- 
claimed Honora,  in  a spirit  of  kindness. 

“ Do  you  ride  ? ” he  demanded. 


212 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


“ I’m  devoted  to  it,”  she  declared. 

It  was  true.  For  many  weeks  that  spring,  on  Monday, 
Wednesday,  and  Friday  mornings,  she  had  gone  up  from 
Rivington  to  Harvey’s  Riding  Academy,  near  Central 
Park.  Thus  she  had  acquired  the  elements  of  the  eques- 
trian art,  and  incidentally  aroused  the  enthusiasm  of  a 
riding-master. 

After  Mrs.  Chandos  had  smoked  three  of  the  cigarettes 
which  her  host  specially  imported  from  Egypt,  she  de- 
clared, with  no  superabundance  of  enthusiasm,  that  she 
was  ready  “to  go  and  see  what  Trixy  had  in  the  stables.” 
In  spite  of  that  lady’s  somewhat  obvious  impatience,  Honora 
insisted  upon  admiring  everything  from  the  monogram  of 
coloured  sands  so  deftly  woven  on  the  white  in  the  coach 
house,  to  the  hunters  and  polo  ponies  in  their  rows  of  boxes. 
At  last  Vercingetorix,  the  latest  acquisition  of  which 
Brent  had  spoken,  was  uncovered  and  trotted  around 
the  ring. 

“ I’m  sorry,  Trixy,  but  I’ve  really  got  to  leave,”  said 
Mrs.  Chandos.  “And  I’m  in  such  a predicament!  I 
promised  Fanny  Darlington  I’d  go  over  there,  and  it’s 
eight  miles,  and  both  my  horses  are  lame.” 

Brent  turned  to  his  coachman. 

“Put  a pair  in  the  victoria  right  away  and  drive  Mrs. 
Chandos  to  Mrs.  Darlington’s,”  he  said. 

She  looked  at  him,  and  her  lip  quivered. 

“You  always  were  the  soul  of  generosity,  Trixy,  but  — 
why  the  victoria?  ” 

“ My  dear  Lula,”  he  replied,  “ if  there’s  any  other 
carriage  you  prefer  — ? ” 

Honora  did  not  hear  the  answer,  which  at  any  rate  was 
scarcely  audible.  She  moved  away,  and  her  eyes  continued 
to  follow  Vercingetorix  as  he  trotted  about  the  tan-bark 
after  a groom.  And  presently  she  was  aware  that  Trixton 
Brent  was  standing  beside  her. 

“ What  do  you  think  of  him  ? ” he  asked. 

“ He’s  adorable,”  declared  Honora. 

“ Would  you  like  to  try  him  ? ” 

“ Oh  — might  I ? Sometime  ? ” 


GAD  AND  MENI 


213 


“Why  not  to-day  — now?”  he  said.  “I’ll  send  him 
over  to  your  house  and  have  your  saddle  put  on  him.” 

Before  Honora  could  protest  Mrs.  Chandos  came 
forward. 

“ It’s  awfully  sweet  of  you,  Trixy,  to  offer  to  send  me 
to  Fanny’s,  but  Warry  says  he  will  drive  me  over.  Good-by, 
my  dear,”  she  added,  holding  out  her  hand  to  Honora. 
44 1 hope  you  enjoy  your  ride.” 

Mr.  Trowbridge’s  phaeton  was  brought  up,  Brent  helped 
Mrs.  Chandos  in,  and  stood  for  a moment  gazing  after  her. 
Amusement  was  still  in  his  eyes  as  he  turned  to  Honora. 

44  Poor  Lula  ! ” he  said.  44  Most  women  could  have  done 
it  better  than  that  — couldn’t  they  ? ” 

44 1 think  you  were  horrid  to  her,”  exclaimed  Honora, 
indignantly.  44  It  wouldn’t  have  hurt  you  to  drive  her  to 
Mrs.  Darlington’s.” 

It  did  not  occur  to  her  that  her  rebuke  implied  a famili- 
arity at  which  they  had  swiftly  but  imperceptibly  arrived. 

44  Oh,  yes,  it  would  hurt  me,”  said  he.  44  I’d  rather  spend 
a day  in  jail  than  drive  with  Lula  in  that  frame  of  mind. 
Tender  reproaches,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing,  you  know  — 
although  I can’t  believe  you  ever  indulge  in  them.  Don’t,” 
he  added. 

In  spite  of  the  fact  that  she  was  up  in  arms  for  her  sex, 
Honora  smiled. 

44  Do  you  know,”  she  said  slowly,  44  I’m  beginning  to 
think  you  are  a brute.” 

44  That’s  encouraging,”  he  replied. 

44  And  fickle.” 

44  Still  more  encouraging.  Most  men  are  fickle.  We’re 
predatory  animals.” 

44  It’s  just  as  well  that  I am  warned,”  said  Honora.  She 
raised  her  parasol  and  picked  up  her  skirts  and  shot  him 
a look.  Although  he  did  not  resemble  in  feature  the  great 
if  unscrupulous  Emperor  of  the  French,  he  reminded  her 
now  of  a picture  she  had  once  seen  of  Napoleon  and  a lady ; 
the  lady  obviously  in  a little  flutter  under  the  Emperor’s 
scrutiny.  The  picture  had  suggested  a probable  future 
for  the  lady. 


214 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


“ How  long  will  it  take  you  to  dress  ? ” he  asked. 

“ To  dress  for  what  ? ” 

44  To  ride  with  me.” 

“ I’m  not  going  to  ride  with  you,”  she  said,  and  ex- 
perienced a tingle  of  satisfaction  from  his  surprise. 

44  Why  not?  ” he  demanded. 

44  In  the  first  place,  because  I don’t  want  to  ; and  in  the 
second,  because  I’m  expecting  Lily  Dallam.” 

44  Lily  never  keeps  an  engagement,”  he  said. 

44  That’s  no  reason  why  I shouldn’t,”  Honora  answered. 

44  I’m  beginning  to  think  you’re  deuced  clever,”  said  he. 

44 How  unfortunate  for  me!  ” she  exclaimed. 

He  laughed,  although  it  was  plain  that  he  was  obviously 
put  out.  Honora  was  still  smiling. 

“Deuced  clever,”  he  repeated. 

44  An  experienced  moth,”  suggested  Honora;  44  perhaps 
one  that  has  been  singed  a little,  once  or  twice.  Good-by 
— I’ve  enjoyed  myself  immensely.” 

She  glanced  back  at  him  as  she  walked  down  the  path 
to  the  roadway.  He  was  still  standing  where  she  had 
left  him,  his  feet  slightly  apart,  his  hands  in  the  pockets 
of  his  riding  breeches,  looking  after  her. 

Her  announcement  of  an  engagement  with  Mrs.  Dallam 
had  been,  to  put  it  politely,  fiction.  She  spent  the  rest  of 
the  afternoon  writing  letters  home,  pausing  at  periods  to 
look  out  of  the  window.  Occasionally  it  appeared  that 
her  reflections  were  amusing.  At  seven  o’clock  Howard 
arrived,  flushed  and  tired  after  his  day  of  rest. 

44  By  the  way,  Honora,  I saw  Trixy  Brent  at  the  Club, 
and  he  said  you  wouldn’t  go  riding  with  him.” 

44  Do  you  call  him  Trixy  to  his  face  ? ” she  asked. 

44  What  ? No  — but  every  one  calls  him  T rixy . What’s 
the  matter  with  you  ? ” 

44  Nothing,”  she  replied.  44  Only  — the  habit  every  one 
has  in  Quicksands  of  speaking  of  people  they  don’t  know 
well  by  their  nicknames  seems  rather  bad  taste.” 

44 1 thought  you  liked  Quicksands,”  he  retorted.  44  You 
weren’t  happy  until  you  got  down  here.” 

44  It’s  infinitely  better  than  Rivington,”  she  said. 


GAD  AND  MENI 


215 


44  I suppose,”  he  remarked,  with  a little  irritation  un- 
usual in  him,  “ that  you’ll  be  wanting  to  go  to  Newport 
next.” 

44  Perhaps,”  said  Honora,  and  resumed  her  letter.  He 
fidgeted  about  the  room  for  a while,  ordered  a cocktail, 
and  lighted  a cigarette. 

64  Look  here,”  he  began  presently,  44 1 wish  you’d  be 
decent  to  Brent.  He’s  a pretty  good  fellow,  and  he’s  in 
with  James  Wing  and  that  crowd  of  big  financiers,  and  he 
seems  to  have  taken  a shine  to  me  — probably  because  he’s 
heard  of  that  copper  deal  I put  through  this  spring.” 

Honora  thrust  back  her  writing  pad,  turned  in  her  chair, 
and  faced  him. 

44  How  4 decent  ’ do  you  wish  me  to  be  ? ” she  inquired. 

44  How  decent  ? ” he  repeated. 

44  Yes.” 

He  regarded  her  uneasily,  took  the  cocktail  which  the 
maid  offered  him,  drank  it,  and  laid  down  the  glass. 

He  had  had  before,  in  the  presence  of  his  wife,  this  vague 
feeling  of  having  passed  boundaries  invisible  to  him.  In 
her  eyes  was  a curious  smile  that  lacked  mirth,  in  her 
voice  a dispassionate  note  that  added  to  his  bewilderment. 

44  What  do  you  mean,  Honora  ? ” 

44 1 know  it’s  too  much  to  expect  of  a man  to  be  as  so- 
licitous about  his  wife  as  he  is  about  his  business,”  she 
replied.  44  Otherwise  he  would  hesitate  before  he  threw 
her  into  the  arms  of  Mr.  Trixton  Brent.  I warn  you 
that  he  is  very  attractive  to  women.” 

44  Hang  it,”  said  Howard,  44 1 can’t  see  what  you’re 
driving  at.  I’m  not  throwing  you  into  his  arms.  I’m 
merely  asking  you  to  be  friendly  with  him.  It  means  a 
good  deal  to  me — to  both  of  us.  And  besides,  you  can 
take  care  of  yourself.  You’re  not  the  sort  of  woman  to 
play  the  fool.” 

44  One  never  can  tell,”  said  Honora,  44  what  may  happen. 
Suppose  I fell  in  love  with  him  ? ” 

44  Don’t  talk  nonsense,”  he  said. 

44  I’m  not  so  sure,”  she  answered,  meditatively, 44  that  it  is 
nonsense.  It  would  be  quite  easy  to  fall  in  love  with  him. 


216 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


Easier  than  you  imagine.  Would  you  care  ? ” she  added 
curiously. 

“Care!  ” he  cried;  “of  course  I’d  care.  What  kind  of 
rot  are  you  talking  ? ” 

“ Why  would  you  care  ? ” 

“ Why  ? What  a darned  idiotic  question!  ” 

“ It’s  not  really  so  idiotic  as  you  think  it  is,”  she  said. 
“ Suppose  I allowed  Mr.  Brent  to  make  love  to  me,  as  he’s 
very  willing  to  do,  would  you  be  sufficiently  interested 
to  compete  ? ” 

“To  what  ?” 

“ To  compete.” 

“ But  — but  we’re  married.” 

She  laid  her  hand  upon  her  knee  and  glanced  down  at  it. 
“ It  never  occurred  to  me  until  lately,”  she  said,  “ how 
absurd  is  the  belief  men  still  hold  in  these  days  that  a 
wedding-ring  absolves  them  forever  from  any  effort  on 
their  part  to  retain  their  wives’  affections.  They  regard  the 
ring  very  much  as  a ball  and  chain,  or  a hobble  to  prevent 
the  women  from  running  away,  that  they  may  catch  them 
whenever  they  may  desire  — which  isn’t  often.  Am  I not 
right  ? ” 

He  snapped  his  cigarette  case. 

“ Darn  it,  Honora,  you’re  getting  too  deep  for  me  ! ” he 
exclaimed.  “ You  never  liked  those  Browning  women 
down  at  Rivington,  but  if  this  isn’t  Browning  I’m  hanged 
if  I know  what  it  is.  An  attack  of  nerves,  perhaps. 
They  tell  me  that  women  go  all  to  pieces  nowadays  over 
nothing  at  all.” 

“That’s  just  it,”  she  agreed,  “ nothing  at  all!  ” 

“ I thought  as  much,”  he  replied,  eager  to  seize  this  op- 
portune of  ending  a conversation  that  had  neither  head 
nor  tail,  and  yet  was  marvellously  uncomfortable.  “ There ! 
be  a good  girl,  and  forget  it.” 

He  stooped  down  suddenly  to  kiss  her,  but  she  turned 
her  face  in  time  to  receive  the  caress  on  the  cheek. 

“ The  panacea  ! ” she  said. 

He  laughed  a little,  boyishly,  as  he  stood  looking  down 
at  her. 


GAD  AND  MENI 


217 


“Sometimes  I can’t  make  you  out,”  he  said.  “You’ve 
changed  a good  deal  since  I married  you.” 

She  was  silent.  But  the  thought  occurred  to  her 
that  a complete  absorption  in  commercialism  was  not 
developing. 

“If  you  can  manage  it,  Honora,”  he  added  with  an 
attempt  at  lightness,  “I  wish  you’d  have  a little  dinner 
soon,  and  ask  Brent.  Will  you?” 

“Nothing,”  she  replied,  “would  give  me  greater  pleas- 
ure.” 

He  patted  her  on  the  shoulder  and  left  the  room  whis- 
tling. But  she  sat  where  she  was  until  the  maid  came  in 
to  pull  the  curtains  and  turn  on  the  lights,  reminding  her 
that  guests  were  expected. 

Although  the  circle  of  Mr.  Brent’s  friends  could  not  be 
said  to  include  any  university  or  college  presidents,  it 
was,  however,  both  catholic  and  wide.  He  was  hail  fellow, 
indeed,  with  jockeys  and  financiers,  great  ladies  and  munic- 
ipal statesmen  of  good  Irish  stock.  He  was  a lion  who 
roamed  at  large  over  a great  variety  of  hunting  grounds, 
some  of  which  it  would  be  snobbish  to  mention;  for  many 
reasons  he  preferred  Quicksands:  a man-eater,  a woman- 
eater,  and  extraordinarily  popular,  nevertheless.  Many 
ladies,  so  it  was  reported,  had  tried  to  tame  him:  some  of 
them  he  had  cheerfully  gobbled  up,  and  others  after  the 
briefest  of  inspections,  disdainfully  thrust  aside  with  his 
paw. 

This  instinct  for  lion  taming,  which  the  most  spirited 
of  women  possess,  is,  by  the  way,  almost  inexplicable  to 
the  great  majority  of  the  male  sex.  Honora  had  it,  as 
must  have  been  guessed.  But  however  our  faith  in  her 
may  be  justified  by  the  ridiculous  ease  of  her  previous 
conquests,  we  cannot  regard  without  trepidation  her 
entrance  into  the  arena  with  this  particular  and  widely 
renowned  king  of  beasts.  Innocence  pitted  against  sophis- 
try and  wile  and  might. 

Two  of  the  preliminary  contests  we  have  already  wit- 
nessed. Others,  more  or  less  similar,  followed  during  a 


218 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


period  of  two  months  or  more.  Nothing  inducing  the  ex- 
cessive wagging  of  tongues,  — Honora  saw  to  that,  although 
Mrs.  Chandos  kindly  took  the  trouble  to  warn  our  heroine, 
— a scene  for  which  there  is  unfortunately  no  space  in  this 
chronicle  ; an  entirely  amicable,  almost  honeyed  scene, 
in  Honora’s  boudoir.  Nor  can  a complete  picture  of  life 
at  Quicksands  be  undertaken.  Multiply  Mrs.  Dallam’s 
dinner-party  by  one  hundred,  Howard  Spence’s  Sundays 
at  the  Club  by  twenty,  and  one  has  a very  fair  idea  of  it. 
It  was  not  precisely  intellectual. 

44  Happy,”  says  Montesquieu, 

44  the  people  whose  annals  are 
blank  in  history’s  book.”  Let 
us  leave  it  at  that. 

Late  one  afternoon  in  August 
Honora  was  riding  homeward 
along  the  ocean  road.  The  fra- 
grant marshes  that  bordered  it 
were  a vivid  green  under  the 
slanting  rays  of  ^ 
the  sun,  and 
was  gazing  across 


them  at  the 

breakers  crashing 
on  the  beach  be- 
yond. Trixton  Brent  was  beside  her. 

44 1 wish  you  wouldn’t  stare  at  me  so,”  she  said, 
turning  to  him  suddenly  ; 44  it  is  embarrassing.’ 

44  How  did  you  know  I was  looking  at  you  ? ” \ 

he  asked.  \ 

44 1 felt  it.”  ‘ 

He  drew  his  horse  a little  nearer. 

44  Sometimes  you’re  positively  uncanny,”  she  added. 

He  laughed. 

44 1 rather  like  that  castles-in-Spain  expression  you 
wore,”  he  declared. 

44  Castles  in  Spain  ? ” 

44  Or  in  some  other  place  where  the  real  estate  is  more 
valuable.  Certainly  not  in  Quicksands.” 


GAD  AND  MENI 


219 


44  You  are  uncanny,”  proclaimed  Honora,  with  con- 
viction. 

44 1 told  you  you  wouldn’t  like  Quicksands,”  said  he. 

44  I’ve  never  said  I didn’t  like  it,”  she  replied.  44 1 
can’t  see  why  you  assume  that  I don’t.” 

44  You’re  ambitious,”  he  said.  44  Not  that  I think  it  a 
fault,  when  it’s  more  or  less  warranted.  You’re  thrown 
away  here,  and  you  know  it.” 

She  made  him  a bow  from  the  saddle. 

44  You  came  here  by  mistake.” 

44 1 have  not  been  without  a reward,  at  least,”  she 
answered,  and  looked  at  him. 

44 1 have,”  said  he. 

Honora  smiled. 

44  I’m  going  to  be  your  good  angel,  and  help  you  get  out 
of  it,”  he  continued. 

44  Get  out  of  what  ? ” 

44  Quicksands.” 

44  Do  you  think  I’m  in  danger  of  sinking  ? ” she  asked. 
44  And  is  it  impossible  for  me  to  get  out  alone,  if  I wished 
to?” 

44  It  will  be  easier  with  my  help,”  he  answered.  44  You’re 
clever  enough  to  realize  that  — Honora.” 

She  was  silent  awhile. 

44  You  say  the  most  extraordinary  things,”  she  remarked 
presently.  44  Sometimes  I think  they  are  almost  — ” 

44  Indelicate,”  he  supplied. 

She  coloured. 

44  Yes,  indelicate.” 

44  You  can’t  forgive  me  for  sweeping  away  your  rose- 
coloured  cloud  of  romance,”  he  declared,  laughing. 
44  There  are  spades  in  the  pack,  however  much  you  may 
wish  to  ignore  ’em.  You  know  very  well  you  don’t  like 
these  Quicksands  people.  They  grate  on  your  finer 
sensibilities,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing.  Come,  now,  isn’t 
it  so  ? ” 

She  coloured  again,  and  put  her  horse  to  the  trot. 

44  Onwards  and  upwards,”  he  cried.  44  Veni , vidi,  vici , 
ascendi .” 


220 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


“ It  seems  to  me,”  she  laughed,  “ that  so  much  educa- 
tion is  thrown  away  on  the  stock  market.” 

44  Whether  you  will  be  any  happier  higher  up,”  he  went 
on,  44  God  knows.  Sometimes  I think  you  ought  to  go 
back  to  the  Arcadia  you  came  from.  Did  you  pick  out 
Spence  for  an  embryo  lord  of  high  finance  ? ” 

44  My  excuse  is,”  replied  Honora,  44  that  I was  very 
young,  and  I hadn’t  met  you.” 

Whether  the  lion  has  judged  our  heroine  with  astuteness, 
or  done  her  a little  less  than  justice,  must  be  left  to  the 
reader.  Apparently  he  is  accepting  her  gentle  lashings 
with  a meek  enjoyment.  He  assisted  her  to  alight  at  her 
own  door,  sent  the  horses  home,  and  offered  to  come  in 
and  give  her  a lesson  in  a delightful  game  that  was  to  do  its 
share  in  the  disintegration  of  the  old  and  tiresome  order 
of  things  — bridge.  The  lion,  it  will  be  seen,  was  self- 
sacrificing  even  to  the  extent  of  double  dummy.  He  had 
picked  up  the  game  with  characteristic  aptitude  abroad  — 
Quicksands  had  yet  to  learn  it. 

Howard  Spence  entered  in  the  midst  of  the  lesson. 

44  Hello,  Brent,”  said  he,  genially,  44  you  may  be  in- 
terested to  know  I got  that  little  matter  through  without 
a hitch  to-day.” 

44 1 continue  to  marvel  at  you,”  said  the  lion,  and  made 
it  no  trumps. 

Since  this  is  a veracious  history,  and  since  we  have 
wandered  so  far  from  home  and  amidst  such  strange,  if 
brilliant  scenes,  it  must  be  confessed  that  Honora,  three 
days  earlier,  had  entered  a certain  shop  in  New  York  and 
inquired  for  a book  on  bridge.  Yes,  said  the  clerk,  he 
had  such  a treatise,  it  had  arrived  from  England  a week 
before.  She  kept  it  locked  up  in  her  drawer,  and  studied 
it  in  the  mornings  with  a pack  of  cards  before  her. 

Given  the  proper  amount  of  spur,  anything  in  reason 
can  be  mastered. 


CHAPTER  VII 


OF  CERTAIN  DELICATE  MATTERS 

In  the  religious  cult  of  Gad  and  Meni,  practised  with 
such  enthusiasm  at  Quicksands,  the  Saints’  days  were 
polo  days,  and  the  chief  of  all  festivals  the  occasion  of 
the  match  with  the  Banbury  Hunt  Club  — Quicksands’s 
greatest  rival.  Rival  for  more  reasons  than  one,  reasons 
too  delicate  to  tell.  Long,  long  ago  there  appeared  in 
Punch  a cartoon  of  Lord  Beaconsfield  executing  that  most 
difficult  of  performances,  an  egg  dance.  We  shall  be 
fortunate  indeed  if  we  get  to  the  end  of  this  chapter  with- 
out breaking  an  egg! 

Our  pen  fails  us  in  a description  of  that  festival  of 
festivals,  the  Banbury  one,  which  took  place  early  in  Sep- 
tember. We  should  have  to  go  back  to  Babylon  and  the 
days  of  King  Nebuchadnezzar.  ( Who  turns  out  to  have 
been  only  a regent,  by  the  way,  and  his  name  is  now  said  to 
be  spelled  rezzar).  How  give  an  idea  of  the  libations 
poured  out  to  Gad  and  the  shekels  laid  aside  for  Meni  in 
the  Quicksands  Temple  ? 

Hon  ora  privately  thought  that  building  ugly,  and  it  re- 
minded her  of  a collection  of  huge  yellow  fungi  sprawling 
over  the  ground.  A few  of  the  inevitable  tortured  cedars 
were  around  it.  Between  two  of  the  larger  buildings  was 
wedged  a room  dedicated  to  the  worship  of  Bacchus,  to-day 
like  a narrow  river-gorge  at  flood  time  jammed  with  tree- 
trunks — some  of  them,  let  us  say,  water-logged  — and  all 
grinding  together  with  an  intolerable  noise  like  a battle. 
If  you  happened  to  be  passing  the  windows,  certain  more 
or  less  intelligible  sounds  might  separate  themselves  from 
the  bedlam. 


221 


222 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


“ Four  to  five  on  Quicksands  ! ” 

“ That  stock  isn’t  worth  a d n!  ” 

“She’s  gone  to  South  Dakota.” 

Honora,  however,  is  an  heretic,  as  we  know.  Without 
going  definitely  into  her  reasons,  these  festivals  had  grad- 
ually become  distasteful  to  her.  Perhaps  it  would  be 
fairer  to  look  at  them  through  the  eyes  of  Lily  Dallam, 
who  was  in  her  element  on  such  days,  and  regarded  them 
as  the  most  innocent  and  enjoyable  of  occasions,  and  per- 
haps they  were. 

The  view  from  the  veranda,  at  least,  appealed  to  our 
heroine’s  artistic  sense.  The  marshes  in  the  middle  dis- 
tance, the  shimmering  sea  beyond,  and  the  polo  field  laid 
down  like  a vast  green  carpet  in  the  foreground;  while 
the  players,  in  white  breeches  and  bright  shirts,  on  the 
agile  little  horses  that  darted  hither  and  thither  across 
the  turf  lent  an  added  touch  of  colour  and  movement  to 
the  scene.  Amongst  them,  Trixton  Brent  most  frequently 
caught  the  eye  and  held  it.  Once  Honora  perceived  him 
flying  the  length  of  the  field,  madly  pursued,  his  mallet 
poised  lightly,  his  shirt  bulging  in  the  wind,  his  close- 
cropped  head  bereft  of  a cap,  regardless  of  the  havoc 
and  confusion  behind  him.  He  played,  indeed,  with  the 
cocksureness  and  individuality  one  might  have  expected  ; 
and  Honora,  forgetting  at  moments  the  disturbing  ele- 
ments by  which  she  was  surrounded,  followed  him  with 
fascination.  Occasionally  his  name  rippled  from  one  end 
of  the  crowded  veranda  to  the  other,  and  she  experienced 
a curious  and  uncomfortable  sensation  when  she  heard  it 
in  the  mouths  of  these  strangers. 

From  time  to  time  she  found  herself  watching  them 
furtively,  comparing  them  unconsciously  with  her  Quick- 
sands friends.  Some  of  them  she  had  remarked  before, 
at  contests  of  a minor  importance,  and  they  seemed  to  her 
to  possess  a certain  distinction  that  was  indefinable.  They 
had  come  to-day  from  many  mysterious  (and  therefore 
delightful)  places  which  Honora  knew  only  by  name,  and 
some  had  driven  the  twenty-five  odd  miles  from  the  hunt- 
ing community  of  Banbury  in  coaches  and  even  those 


OF  CERTAIN  DELICATE  MATTERS 


223 


new  and  marvellous  importations  — French  automobiles. 
When  the  game  had  ended,  and  Lily  Dallam  was  cajoling 
the  club  steward  to  set  her  tea-table  at  once,  a group  of 
these  visitors  halted  on  the  lawn,  talking  and  laughing 
gayly.  Two  of  the  younger  men  Honora  recognized  with 
a start,  but  for  a moment  she  could  not  place  them  — until 
suddenly  she  remembered  that  she  had  seen  them  on  her 
wedding  trip  at  Hot  Springs.  The  one  who  lisped  was 
Mr.  Cuthbert,  familiarly  known  as  “Toots”:  the  other, 
taller  and  slimmer  and  paler,  was  Jimmy  Wing.  A third, 
the  regularity  of  whose  features  made  one  wonder  at  the 
perfection  which  nature  could  attain  when  she  chose,  who 
had  a certain  Gallic  appearance  (and  who,  if  the  truth 
be  told,  might  have  reminded  an  impartial  eye  of  a 
slightly  animated  wax  clothing  model),  turned,  stared, 
hesitated,  and  bowed  to  Lily  Dallam. 

“That’s  Reggie  Farwell,  who  did  my  house  in  town,” 
she  whispered  to  Honora.  “He’s  never  been  near  me 
since  it  was  finished.  He’s  utterly  ruined.” 

Honora  was  silent.  She  tried  not  to  look  at  the  group, 
in  which  there  were  two  women  of  very  attractive  ap- 
pearance, and  another  man. 

“ Those  people  are  so  superior,”  Mrs.  Dallam  continued. 
“ I’m  not  surprised  at  Elsie  Shorter.  Ever  since  she 
married  Jerry  she’s  stuck  to  the  Graingers  closer  than  a 
sister.  That’s  Cecil  Grainger,  my  dear, — the  man  who 
looks  as  though  he  were  going  to  fall  asleep  any  moment. 
But  to  think  of  Abby  Kame  acting  that  way!  Isn’t  it 
ridiculous,  Clara  ? ” she  cried,  appealing  to  Mrs.  Trow- 
bridge. “ They  say  that  Cecil  Grainger  never  leaves  her 
side.  I knew  her  when  she  first  married  John  Kame,  the 
dearest,  simplest  man  that  ever  was.  He  was  twenty 
years  older  than  Abby,  and  made  his  money  in  leather. 
She  took  the  first  steamer  after  his  funeral  and  an  apart- 
ment in  a Roman  palace  for  the  winter.  As  soon  as  she 
decently  could  she  made  for  England.  The  English  will 
put  up  with  anybody  who  has  a few  million  dollars,  and  I 
don’t  deny  that  Abby’s  good-looking,  and  clever  in  her 
way.  But  it’s  absurd  for  her  to  come  over  here  and  act 


224 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


as  though  we  didn’t  exist.  She  needn’t  be  afraid  that  I’ll 
speak  to  her.  They  say  she  became  intimate  with  Bessie 
Grainger  through  charities.  One  of  your  friend  Mrs. 
Holt’s  charities,  by  the  way,  Honora.  Where  are  you 
going  ? ” 

For  Honora  had  risen. 

“I  think  I’ll  go  home,  Lily,”  she  said;  “I’m  rather 
tired.” 

“ Home  ! ” exclaimed  Mrs.  Dallam.  “ What  can  you  be 
thinking  of,  my  dear?  Nobody  ever  goes  home  after  the 
Banbury  match.  The  fun  has  just  begun,  and  we’re  all 
to  stay  here  for  dinner  and  dance  afterwards.  And  Trixy 
Brent  promised  me  faithfully  he’d  come  here  for  tea,  as 
soon  as  he  dressed.” 

“ I really  can’t  stay,  Lily.  I — I don’t  feel  up  to  it,” 
said  Honora,  desperately. 

“And  you  can’t  know  how  I counted  on  you  ! You 
look  perfectly  fresh,  my  dear.” 

Honora  felt  an  overwhelming  desire  to  hide  herself,  to 
be  alone.  In  spite  of  the  cries  of  protest  that  followed 
her  and  drew  — she  thought  — an  unnecessary  and  dis- 
agreeable attention  to  her  departure,  she  threaded  her 
way  among  groups  of  people  who  stared  after  her.  Her 
colour  was  high,  her  heart  beating  painfully  ; a vague 
sense  of  rebellion  and  shame  within  her  for  which  she  did 
not  try  to  account.  Rather  than  run  the  gantlet  of  the 
crowded  veranda  she  stepped  out  on  the  lawn,  and  there 
encountered  Trixton  Brent.  He  had,  in  an  incredibly 
brief  time,  changed  from  his  polo  clothes  to  flannels  and 
a straw  hat.  He  looked  at  her  and  whistled,  and  barred 
her  passage. 

“Hel-fo!”  he  cried.  “Hoity-toity!  Where  are  we 
going  in  such  a hurry  ? ” 

“ Home,”  answered  Honora,  a little  breathlessly,  and 
added  for  his  deception,  “ the  game’s  over,  isn’t  it  ? I’m 
glad  you  won.” 

Mr.  Brent,  however,  continued  to  gaze  at  her  penetrat- 
ingly,  and  she  avoided  his  eyes. 

“ But  why  are  you  rushing  off  like  a flushed  partridge  ? 


OF  CERTAIN  DELICATE  MATTERS 


225 


— no  reference  to  your  complexion.  Has  there  been  a 
row  ? ” 

“ Oh,  no  — I was  just  — tired.  Please  let  me  go.” 

“Being  your  good  angel  — or  physician,  as  you  choose 

— I have  a prescription  for  that  kind  of  weariness,”  he 
said  smilingly.  “I  — anticipated  such  an  attack.  That’s 
why  I got  into  my  clothes  in  such  record  time.” 

“ I don’t  know  what  you  mean,”  faltered  Honora. 
“ Y ou  are  always  imagining  all  sorts  of  things  about  me 
that  aren’t  true.” 

“ As  a matter  of  fact,”  said  Brent,  “ I have  promised 
faithfully  to  do  a favor  for  certain  friends  of  mine  who 
have  been  clamouring  to  be  presented  to  you.” 

“I  can’t  — to-day-— Mr.  Brent,”  she  cried.  “I  really 
don’t  feel  like — meeting  people.  I told  Lily  Dallam  I 
was  going  home.” 

The  group,  however,  which  had  been  the  object  of  that 
lady’s  remarks  was  already  moving  towards  them  — with 
the  exception  of  Mrs.  Shorter  and  Mr.  Farwell,  who  had 
left  it.  They  greeted  Mr.  Brent  with  great  cordiality. 

“Mrs.  Kame,”  he  said,  “let  me  introduce  Mrs.  Spence. 
And  Mrs.  Spence,  Mr.  Grainger,  Mr.  Wing,  and  Mr.  Cuth- 
bert.  Mrs.  Spence  was  just  going  home.” 

“Home!”  echoed  Mrs.  Kame,  “I  thought  Quicksands 
people  never  went  home  after  a victory.” 

“ I’ve  scarcely  been  here  long  enough,”  replied  Honora, 
“to  have  acquired  all  of  the  Quicksands  habits.” 

“ Oh,”  said  Mrs.  Kame,  and  looked  at  Honora  again. 
“Wasn’t  that  Mrs.  Dallam  you  were  with  ? I used  to 
know  her,  years  ago,  but  she  doesn’t  speak  to  me  any 
more.” 

“ Perhaps  she  thinks  you’ve  forgotten  her,”  said  Ho- 
nora. 

“ It  would  be  impossible  to  forget  Mrs.  Dallam,”  de- 
clared Mrs.  Kame. 

“ So  I should  have  thought,”  said  Honora. 

Trixton  Brent  laughed,  and  Mrs.  Kame,  too,  after  a 
moment’s  hesitation.  She  laid  her  hand  familiarly  on 
Mr.  Brent’s  arm. 


Q 


226 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


44  I haven’t  seen  you  all  summer,  Trixy,”  she  said.  44  I 
hear  you’ve  been  here  at  Quicksands,  stewing  in  that 
little  packing-case  of  yours.  Aren’t  you  coming  into  our 
steeplechase  at  Banbury?” 

“I  believe  you  went  to  school  with  my  sister,”  said 
young  Mr.  Wing. 

44  Oh,  yes,”  answered  Honora,  somewhat  surprised.  “I 
caught  a glimpse  of  her  once,  in  New  York.  I hope  you 
will  remember  me  to  her.” 

44  xAnd  I’ve  seen  you  before,”  proclaimed  Mr.  Cuthbert, 
44  but  I can’t  for  the  life  of  me  think  where.” 

Honora  did  not  enlighten  him. 

44  I shan’t  forget,  at  any  rate,  Mrs.  Spence,”  said  Cecil 
Grainger,  who  had  not  taken  his  eyes  from  her,  except  to 
blink. 

Mrs.  Kame  saved  her  the  embarrassment  of  replying. 

44  Can’t  we  go  somewhere  and  play  bridge,  Trixy  ? ” she 
demanded. 

44  I’d  be  delighted  to  offer  you  the  hospitality  of  my 
packing-case,  as  you  call  it,”  said  Brent,  44  but  the  dining- 
room ceiling  fell  down  Wednesday,  and  I’m  having  the 
others  bolstered  up  as  a mere  matter  of  precaution.” 

“I  suppose  we  couldn’t  get  a fourth,  anyway.  Neither 
Jimmy  nor  Toots  plays.  It’s  so  stupid  of  them  not  to 
learn.” 

44  Mrs.  Spence  might  help  us  out,”  suggested  Brent. 

44  Do  you  play  ? ” exclaimed  Mrs.  Kame,  in  a voice  of 
mixed  incredulity  and  hope. 

“Play!  ” cried  Mr.  Brent,  44  she  can  teach  Jerry  Shorter 
or  the  Duchess  of  Taunton.” 

uThe  Duchess  cheats,”  announced  Cecil  Grainger.  “I 
caught  her  at  it  at  Cannes  — ” 

44  Indeed,  I don’t  play  very  well,”  Honora  interrupted 
him,  44  and  besides  — ” 

44  Suppose  we  go  over  to  Mrs.  Spence’s  house,”  Trixton 
Brent  suggested.  “ I’m  sure  she’d  like  to  have  us  — 
wouldn’t  you,  Mrs.  Spence  ? ” 

44  What  a brilliant  idea,  Trixy!”  exclaimed  Mrs. 
Kame. 


OF  CERTAIN  DELICATE  MATTERS 


227 


“ I should  be  delighted,”  said  Honora,  somewhat  weakly. 
An  impulse  made  her  glance  toward  the  veranda,  and  for 
a fraction  of  a second  she  caught  the  eye  of  Lily  Dallam, 
who  turned  again  to  Mrs.  Chandos. 

“ I say,”  said  Mr.  Cuthbert,  “ I don’t  play  — hut  I hope 
I may  come  along.” 

“ And  me  too,”  chimed  in  Mr.  Wing. 

Honora,  not  free  from  a certain  uneasiness  of  con- 
science, led  the  way  to  the  Brackens,  flanked  by  Mr. 
Grainger  and  Mr.  Cuthbert.  Her  frame  of  mind  was  not 
an  ideal  one  for  a hostess ; she  was  put  out  with  Trixton 
Brent,  and  she  could  not  help  wondering  whether  these 
people  would  have  made  themselves  so  free  with  another 
house.  When  tea  was  over,  however,  and  the  bridge  had 
begun,  her  spirits  rose  ; or  rather,  a new  and  strange  ex- 
citement took  possession  of  her  that  was  not  wholly  due 
to  the  novel  and  revolutionary  experience  of  playing  for 
money  — and  winning.  Her  star  being  in  the  ascendant, 
as  we  may  perceive.  She  had  drawn  Mrs.  Kame  for  a 
partner,  and  the  satisfaction  and  graciousness  of  that  lady 
visibly  grew  as  the  score  mounted:  even  the  skill  of  Trix- 
ton Brent  could  not  triumph  over  the  hands  which  the  two 
ladies  held. 

In  the  intervals  the  talk  wandered  into  regions  unfamiliar 
to  Honora,  and  she  had  a sense  that  her  own  horizon  was 
being  enlarged.  A new  vista,  at  least,  had  been  cut  : 
possibilities  became  probabilities.  Even  when  Mrs.  Kame 
chose  to  ridicule  Quicksands  Honora  was  silent,  so  keenly 
did  she  feel  the  justice  of  her  guest’s  remarks  ; and  the 
implication  was  that  Honora  did  not  belong  there.  When 
train  time  arrived  and  they  were  about  to  climb  into 
Trixton  Brent’s  omnibus— for  which  he  had  obligingly 
telephoned  — Mrs.  Kame  took  Honora’s  hand  in  both 
her  own.  Some  good  thing,  after  all,  could  come  out  of 
this  community  — such  was  the  triumphant  discovery  the 
lady’s  manner  implied. 

“ My  dear,  don’t  you  ever  come  to  Banbury  ? ” she  asked. 
“ I’d  be  so  glad  to  see  you.  I must  get  Trixy  to  drive 
you  over  some  day  for  lunch.  We’ve  had  such  a good  time, 


228 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


and  Cecil  didn’t  fall  asleep  once.  Quite  a record.  You 
saved  our  lives,  really.” 

“ Are  you  going  to  be  in  town  this  winter  ? ” Mr. 
Grainger  inquired. 

“I  — I suppose  so  — ” replied  Honora,  for  the  moment 
taken  aback,  “although  I haven’t  decided  just  where.” 

“ I shall  look  forward  to  seeing  you,”  he  said. 

This  hope  was  expressed  even  more  fervently  by  Mr. 
Cuthbert  and  Mr.  Wing,  and  the  whole  party  waved  her 
a cordial  good-by  as  the  carriage  turned  the  circle.  Trix- 
ton  Brent,  with  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  stood  facing  her 
under  the  electric  light  on  the  porch. 

“ Well  ? ” he  said. 

“ Well,”  repeated  Honora. 

“ Nice  people,”  said  Mr.  Brent,  in  his  peculiar  way. 

Honora  bridled. 

“You  invited  them  here,”  she  said.  “I  must  say  I 
think  it  was  rather  — presumptuous.  And  you’ve  got 
me  into  no  end  of  trouble  with  Lily  Dallam.” 

He  laughed  as  he  held  open  the  screen  door  for  her. 

“ I wonder  whether  a good  angel  was  ever  so  abused,” 
he  said. 

“ A good  angel,”  she  repeated,  smiling  at  him  in  spite 
of  herself. 

“Or  knight-errant,”  he  continued,  “whichever  you 
choose.  You  want  to  get  out  of  Quicksands  — I’m  trying 
to  make  it  easy  for  you.  Before  you  leave  you  have  to 
arrange  some  place  to  go.  Before  we  are  off  with  the 
old  we’d  better  be  on  with  the  new.” 

“ Oh,  please  don’t  say  such  things,”  she  cried,  “ they’re 
so  — so  sordid.”  She  looked  searchingly  into  his  face. 
“ Do  I really  seem  to  you  like  that  ? ” 

Her  lip  was  quivering,  and  she  was  still  under  the 
influence  of  the  excitement  which  the  visit  of  these  people 
had  brought  about. 

“No,”  said  Brent,  coming  very  close  to  her,  “no,  you 
don’t.  That’s  the  extraordinary  part  of  it.  The  trouble 
with  you,  Honora,  is  that  you  want  something  badly  — 
very  badly  — and  you  haven’t  yet  found  out  what  it  is. 


OF  CERTAIN  DELICATE  MATTERS 


229 


And  you  won’t  find  out,”  he  added,  “ until  you  have  tried 
everything.  Therefore  am  I a good  Samaritan,  or  some- 
thing like  it.” 

She  looked  at  him  with  startled  eyes,  breathing  deeply. 

“ I wonder  if  that  is  so ! ” she  said,  in  a low  voice. 

“Not  until  you  have  had  and  broken  every  toy  in  the 
shop,”  he  declared.  “ Out  of  the  mouths  of  men  of  the 
world  occasionally  issues  wisdom.  I’m  going  to  help  you 
get  the  toys.  Don’t  you  think  I’m  kind  ? ” 

“ And  isn’t  this  — philanthropic  mood  a little  new  to 
you  ? ” she  asked. 

“ I thought  I had  exhausted  all  novelties,”  he  answered. 
“ Perhaps  that’s  the  reason  why  I enjoy  it.” 

She  turned  and  walked  slowly  into  the  drawing-room, 
halted,  and  stood  staring  at  the  heap  of  gold  and  yellow 
bills  that  Mr.  Grainger  had  deposited  in  front  of  the 
place  where  she  had  sat.  Her  sensation  was  akin  to 
sickness.  She  reached  out  with  a kind  of  shuddering 
fascination  and  touched  the  gold. 

“ I think,”  she  said,  speaking  rather  to  herself  than  to 
Brent,  “ I’ll  give  it  to  charity.” 

“ If  it  is  possible  to  combine  a meritorious  act  with 
good  policy,  I should  suggest  giving  it  to  Mrs.  Grainger 
for  the  relief  of  oppressed  working  girls,”  he  said. 

Honora  started. 

“ I wonder  why  Howard  doesn’t  come  ! ” she  exclaimed, 
looking  at  the  clock. 

“ Probably  because  he  is  holding  nothing  but  full  hands 
and  flushes,”  hazarded  Mr.  Brent.  “ Might  I propose 
myself  for  dinner  ? ” 

“ When  so  many  people  are  clamouring  for  you  ? ” she 
asked. 

“ Even  so,”  he  said. 

“ I think  I’ll  telephone  to  the  Club,”  said  Honora,  and 
left  the  room. 

It  was  some  time  before  her  husband  responded  to  the 
call ; and  then  he  explained  that  if  Honora  didn’t  object, 
he  was  going  to  a man’s  dinner  in  a private  room.  The 
statement  was  not  unusual. 


230 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


“But,  Howard,”  she  said,  “I  — I wanted  you  particu- 
larly to-night.” 

“ I thought  you  were  going  to  dine  with  Lily  Dallam. 
She  told  me  you  were.  Are  you  alone  ? ” 

“ Mr.  Brent  is  here.  He  brought  over  some  Banbury 
people  to  play  bridge.  They’ve  gone.” 


“ Oh,  Brent  will  amuse  you,”  he  replied.  “ I didn’t 
know  you  were  going  to  be  home,  and  I’ve  promised  these 
men.  I’ll  come  back  early.” 

She  hung  up  the  receiver  thoughtfully,  paused  a moment, 
and  went  back  to  the  drawing-room.  Brent  looked  up. 

“ Well,”  he  said,  “ was  I right  ? ” 

“ You  seem  always  to  be  right,”  Honora  sighed. 

After  dinner  they  sat  in  the  screened  part  of  the  porch 
which  Mrs.  Fern  had  arranged  very  cleverly  as  an  outside 
room.  Brent  had  put  a rug  over  Honora’s  knees,  for  the 
ocean  breath  that  stirred  the  leaves  was  cold.  Across  the 


OF  CERTAIN  DELICATE  MATTERS 


231 


darkness  fragments  of  dance  music  drifted  fitfully  from 
the  Club,  and  died  away;  and  at  intervals,  when  the 
embers  of  his  cigar  flared  up,  she  caught  sight  of  her 
companion’s  face. 

She  found  him  difficult  to  understand.  There  are 
certain  rules  of  thumb  in  every  art,  no  doubt,  — even  in 
that  most  perilous  one  of  lion-taming.  But  here  was  a 
baffling,  individual  lion.  She  liked  him  best,  she  told 
herself,  when  he  purred  platonically,  but  she  could  by  no 
means  be  sure  that  his  subjection  was  complete.  Some- 
times he  had  scratched  her  in  his  play.  And  however 
natural  it  is  to  desire  a lion  for  one’s  friend,  to  be  eaten 
is  both  uncomfortable  and  inglorious. 

“ That’s  a remarkable  husband  of  yours,”  he  said  at 
length. 

44  I shouldn’t  have  said  that  you  were  a particularly 
good  judge  of  husbands,”  she  retorted,  after  a moment  of 
surprise. 

He  acknowledged  with  a laugh  the  justice  of  this  obser- 
vation. 

44  I stand  corrected.  He  is  by  no  means  a remarkable 
husband.  Permit  me  to  say  he  is  a remarkable  man.” 

44  What  makes  you  think  so  ? ” asked  Honora,  consider- 
ably disturbed. 

44  Because  he  induced  you  to  marry  him,  for  one  thing,” 
said  Brent.  44  Of  course  he  got  you  before  you  knew 
what  you  were  worth,  but  we  must  give  him  credit  for 
discovery  and  foresight.” 

44  Perhaps,”  Honora  could  not  resist  replying,  44  perhaps 
he  didn’t  know  what  he  was  getting.” 

44  That’s  probably  true,”  Brent  assented, 44  or  he’d  be  sit- 
ting here  now,  where  I am,  instead  of  playing  poker. 
Although  there  is  something  in  matrimony  that  takes  the 
bloom  off  the  peach.” 

44 1 think  that’s  a horrid,  cynical  remark,”  said 
Honora. 

44  Well,”  he  said,  44  we  speak  according  to  our  experi- 
ences— that  is,  if  we’re  not  inclined  to  be  hypocritical. 
Most  women  are.” 


232 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


Honora  was  silent.  He  had  thrown  away  his  cigar, 
and  she  could  no  longer  see  his  face.  She  wondered 
whither  he  was  leading. 

“ How  would  you  like  to  see  your  husband  president  of 
a trust  company  ? ” he  said  suddenly. 

“ Howard  — president  of  a trust  company  ? ” she  ex- 
claimed. 

“ Why  not  ? ” he  demanded.  And  added  enigmati- 
cally, “ Smaller  men  have  been.” 

“ I wish  you  wouldn’t  joke  about  Howard,”  she  said. 

“ How  does  the  idea  strike  you  ? ” he  persisted.  “ Am- 
bition satisfied — temporarily;  Quicksands  a mile-stone 
on  a back  road;  another  toy  to  break;  husband  a big  man 
in  the  community,  so  far  as  the  eye  can  see;  visiting  list 
on  Fifth  Avenue,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing.” 

“ I once  told  you  you  could  be  brutal,”  she  said. 

“ You  haven’t  told  me  what  you  thought  of  the  idea.” 

“ I wish  you’d  be  sensible  once  in  a while,”  she  ex- 
claimed. 

“ Howard  Spence,  President  of  the  Orange  Trust  Com- 
pany,” he  recited.  “ I suppose  no  man  is  a hero  to  his 
wife.  Does  it  sound  so  incredible  ? ” 

It  did.  But  Honora  did  not  say  so. 

“ What  have  I to  do  with  it  ? ” she  asked,  in  pardon- 
able doubt  as  to  his  seriousness. 

“Everything,”  answered  Brent.  “Women  of  your 
type  usually  have.  They  make  and  mar  without  rhyme 
or  reason  — set  business  by  the  ears,  alter  the  gold  reserve, 
disturb  the  balance  of  trade,  and  nobody  ever  suspects  it. 
Old  James  Wing  and  I have  got  a trust  company  organ- 
ized, and  the  building  up,  and  the  man  Wing  wanted  for 
president  backed  out.” 

Honora  sat  up. 

“ Why  — why  did  he  ‘ back  out  ’ ? ” she  demanded. 

“He  preferred  to  stay  where  he  was,  I suppose,”  replied 
Brent,  in  another  tone.  “ The  point  is  that  the  place  is 
empty.  I’ll  give  it  to  you.” 

“ To  me  ? ” 

“ Certainly,”  said  Brent,  “ I don’t  pretend  to  care  an y 


OF  CERTAIN  DELICATE  MATTERS 


233 


thing  about  your  husband.  He’ll  do  as  well  as  the  next 
man.  His  duties  are  pretty  well  — defined.” 

Again  she  was  silent.  But  after  a mordent  dropped 
back  in  her  chair  and  laughed  uneasily. 

“ You’re  preposterous,”  she  said;  u I can’t  think  why  I 
let  you  talk  to  me  in  this  way.” 


CHAPTER  VIII 


OF  MENTAL  PROCESSES  — FEMININE  AND  INSOLUBLE 

Honor  A may  be  pardoned  for  finally  ascribing  to  Mr. 
Brent’s  somewhat  sardonic  sense  of  humour  his  remarks 
concerning  her  husband’s  elevation  to  a conspicuous  posi- 
tion in  the  world  of  finance.  Taken  in  any  other  sense  than 
a joke,  they  were  both  insulting  and  degrading,  and  made 
her  face  burn  when  she  thought  of  them.  After  he  had 
gone  — or  rather  after  she  had  dismissed  him  — she  took 
a book  upstairs  to  wait  for  Howard,  but  she  could  not 
read.  At  times  she  wished  she  had  rebuked  Trixton 
Brent  more  forcibly,  although  he  was  not  an  easy  person 
to  rebuke  ; and  again  she  reflected  that,  had  she  taken 
the  matter  too  seriously,  she  would  have  laid  herself  open 
to  his  ridicule.  The  lion  was  often  unwittingly  rough, 
and  perhaps  that  was  part  of  his  fascination. 

If  Howard  had  come  home  before  midnight  it  is  pos- 
sible that  she  might  have  tried  to  sound  him  as  to  his 
relations  with  Trixton  Brent.  That  gentleman,  she  re- 
membered, had  the  reputation  of  being  a peculiarly  hard- 
headed  business  man,  and  it  was  of  course  absurd  that  he 
should  offer  her  husband  a position  merely  to  please  her. 
And  her  imagination  failed  her  when  she  tried  to  think 
of  Howard  as  the  president  of  a trust  company.  She  was 
unable  to  picture  him  in  a great  executive  office. 

This  train  of  thought  led  her  to  the  unaccustomed  task 
of  analyzing  his  character.  For  the  first  time  since  her 
marriage  comparisons  crept  into  her  mind,  and  she  awoke 
to  the  fact  that  he  was  not  a masterful  man  — even  among 
men.  For  all  his  self-confidence  — self-assurance,  perhaps, 
would  be  the  better  word  — he  was  in  reality  a follower, 
not  a leader;  a gleaner.  He  did  not  lack  ideas.  She 

234 


OF  MENTAL  PROCESSES 


235 


tried  to  arrest  the  process  in  her  brain  when  she  got  as 
far  as  asking  herself  whether  it  might  not  be  that  he 
lacked  ideals.  Since  in  business  matters  he  never  had 
taken  her  into  his  confidence,  and  since  she  would  not  at 
any  rate  have  understood  such  things,  she  had  no  proof  of 
such  a failing.  But  one  or  two  vague  remarks  of  Trixton 
Brent’s  which  she  recalled,  and  Howard’s  own  request  that 
she  should  be  friendly  with  Brent,  reenforced  her  instinct 
on  this  point. 

When  she  heard  her  husband’s  footstep  on  the  porch, 
she  put  out  her  light,  but  still  lay  thinking  in  the  dark- 
ness. Her  revelations  had  arrived  at  the  uncomfortable 
stage  where  they  began  to  frighten  her,  and  with  an  effort 
she  forced  herself  to  turn  to  the  other  side  of  the  account. 
The  hour  was  conducive  to  exaggerations.  Perfection  in 
husbands  was  evidently  a state  not  to  be  considered  by 
any  woman  in  her  right  senses.  He  was  more  or  less 
amenable,  and  he  was  prosperous,  although  definite  news 
of  that  prosperity  never  came  from  him  — Quicksands  al- 
ways knew  of  it  first.  An  instance  of  this  second-hand 
acquisition  of  knowledge  occurred  the  very  next  morning, 
when  Lily  Dallam,  with  much  dignity,  walked  into 
Honora’s  little  sitting-room.  There  was  no  apparent  reason 
why  dignity  should  not  have  been  becoming  to  Lily  Dallam, 
for  she  was  by  no  means  an  unimpressive-looking  woman; 
but  the  assumption  by  her  of  that  quality  always  made 
her  a little  tragic  or  (if  one  chanced  to  be  in  the  humour 
— Honora  was  not)  a little  ridiculous. 

44 1 suppose  I have  no  pride,”  she  said,  as  she  halted 
within  a few  feet  of  the  doorway. 

44  Why,  Lily  ! ” exclaimed  Honora,  pushing  back  the 
chair  from  her  desk,  and  rising. 

But  Mrs.  Dallam  did  not  move. 

44 1 suppose  I have  no  pride,”  she  repeated  in  a dead 
voice, 44  but  I just  couldn’t  help  coming  over  and  giving 
you  a chance.” 

44  Giving  me  a chance  ? ” said  Honora. 

44  To  explain  — after  the  way  you  treated  me  at  the  polo 
game.  If  I hadn’t  seen  it  with  my  own  eyes,  I shouldn’t 


236 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


have  believed  it.  I don’t  think  I should  have  trusted  my 
own  eyes,”  Mrs.  Dallam  went  so  far  as  to  affirm,  “ if  Lula 
Chandos  and  Clara  Trowbridge  and  others  hadn’t  been 
there  and  seen  it  too  ; I shouldn’t  have  believed  it.” 

Honora  was  finding  penitence  a little  difficult.  But 
her  heart  was  kind. 

“ Do  sit  down,  Lily,”  she  begged.  “ If  I’ve  offended 
you  in  any  way,  I’m  exceedingly  sorry  — I am,  really. 
You  ought  to  know  me  well  enough  to  understand  that  I 
wouldn’t  do  anything  to  hurt  your  feelings.” 

“And  when  I counted  on  you  so,  for  my  tea  and  dinner 
at  the  club  ! ” continued  Mrs.  Dallam.  “ There  were 
other  women  dying  to  come.  And  you  said  you  had  a 
headache,  and  were  tired.” 

“ I was,”  began  Honora,  fruitlessly. 

“And  you  were  so  popular  in  Quicksands — everybody 
was  crazy  about  you.  You  were  so  sweet  and  so  unspoiled. 
I might  have  known  that  it  couldn’t  last.  And  now,  be- 
cause Abby  Kame  and  Cecil  Grainger  and  — ” 

“ Lily,  please  don’t  say  such  things  ! ” Honora  implored, 
revolted. 

“ Of  course  you  won’t  be  satisfied  now  with  anything 
less  than  Banbury  or  Newport.  But  you  can’t  say  I 
didn’t  warn  you,  Honora,  that  they  are  a horrid,  selfish, 
fast  lot,”  Lily  Dallam  declared,  and  brushed  her  eyes  with 
her  handkerchief.  “I  did  love  you.” 

“ If  you’ll  only  be  reasonable  a moment,  Lily,  — ” said 
Honora. 

“ Reasonable  ! I saw  you  with  my  own  eyes.  Five 
minutes  after  you  left  me  they  all  started  for  your  house, 
and  Lula  Chandos  said  it  was  the  quickest  cure  of  a head- 
ache she  had  ever  seen.” 

“ Lily,”  Honora  began  again,  with  exemplary  patience, 
“when  people  invite  themselves  to  one’s  house,  it’s  a 
little  difficult  to  refuse  them  hospitality,  isn’t  it  ? ” 

“ Invite  themselves  ? ” 

“ Yes,”  replied  Honora.  “If  I weren’t  — fond  of  you, 
too,  I shouldn’t  make  this  explanation.  I was  tired.  I 
never  felt  less  like  entertaining  strangers.  They  wanted 


OF  MENTAL  PROCESSES 


237 


to  play  bridge,  there  wasn’t  a quiet  spot  in  the  Club  where 
they  could  go.  They  knew  I was  on  my  way  home,  and 
they  suggested  my  house.  That  is  how  it  happened.” 

Mrs.  Dallam  was  silent  a moment. 

“ May  I have  one  of  Howard’s  cigarettes  ? ” she  asked, 
and  added,  after  this  modest  wish  had  been  supplied, 
“ that’s  just  like  them.  They’re  willing  to  make  use  of 
anybody.” 

“ I meant,”  said  Honora,  “ to  have  gone  to  your  house 
this  morning  and  to  have  explained  how  it  happened.” 

Another  brief  silence,  broken  by  Lily  Dallam. 

u Did  you  notice  the  skirt  of  that  suit  Abby  Kame 
had  on  ? ” she  asked.  “ I’m  sure  she  paid  a fabulous 
price  for  it  in  Paris,  and  it’s  exactly  like  one  I ordered  on 
Tuesday.” 

The  details  of  the  rest  of  this  conversation  may  be 
omitted.  That  Honora  was  forgiven,  and  Mrs.  Dallam’s 
spirits  restored  may  be  inferred  from  her  final  remark. 

“ My  dear,  what  do  you  think  of  Sid  and  Howard  mak- 
ing twenty  thousand  dollars  apiece  in  Sassafras  Copper? 
Isn’t  it  too  lovely  ! I’m  having  a little  architect  make 
me  plans  for  a conservatory.  You  know  I’ve  always 
been  dying  for  one — I don’t  see  how  I’ve  lived  all  these 
years  without  it.” 

Honora,  after  her  friend  had  gone,  sat  down  in  one  of 
the  wicker  chairs  on  the  porch.  She  had  a very  vague 
idea  as  to  how  much  twenty  thousand  dollars  was,  but  she 
reflected  that  while  they  had  lived  in  Rivington  Howard 
must  have  made  many  similar  sums,  of  which  she  was  una- 
ware. Gradually  she  began  to  realize,  however,  that  her 
resentment  of  the  lack  of  confidence  of  her  husband  was 
by  no  means  the  only  cause  of  the  feeling  that  took  pos- 
session of  and  overwhelmed  her.  Something  like  it  she 
had  experienced  before  : to-day  her  thoughts  seemed  to 
run  through  her  in  pulsations,  like  waves  of  heat,  and  she 
wondered  that  she  could  have  controlled  herself  while  lis- 
tening to  Lily  Dallam. 

Mrs.  Dallam’s  reproaches  presented  themselves  to  Honora 
in  new  aspects.  She  began  to  feel  now,  with  an  intensity 


238 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


that  frightened  her,  distaste  and  rebellion.  It  was  intolera- 
ble that  she  should  be  called  to  account  for  the  people  she 
chose  to  have  in  her  house,  that  any  sort  of  pressure  should 
be  brought  to  bear  on  her  to  confine  her  friends  to  Quick- 
sands. Treason,  heresy,  disloyalty  to  the  cult  of  that  com- 
munity — in  reality  these,  and  not  a breach  of  engagement, 
were  the  things  of  which  she  had  been  accused.  She  saw 
now.  She  would  not  be  tied  to  Quicksands  — she  would 
not,  she  would  not,  she  would  not ! She  owed  it  no  alle- 
giance. Her  very  soul  rebelled  at  the  thought,  and  cried 
out  that  she  was  made  for  something  better,  something 
higher  than  the  life  she  had  been  leading.  She  would 
permit  no  one  forcibly  to  restrict  her  horizon. 

Just  where  and  how  this  higher  and  better  life  was  to 
be  found  Honora  did  not  know ; but  the  belief  of  her  child- 
hood — that  it  existed  somewhere  — was  still  intact.  Her 
powers  of  analysis,  we  see,  are  only  just  budding,  and  she 
did  not  and  could  not  define  the  ideal  existence  which  she 
so  unflaggingly  sought.  Of  two  of  its  attributes  only  she 
was  sure  — that  it  was  to  be  free  from  restraint  and  from 
odious  comparisons.  Honora’s  development,  it  may  be 
remarked,  proceeds  by  the  action  of  irritants,  and  of  late 
her  protest  against  Quicksands  and  what  it  represented 
had  driven  her  to  other  books  besides  the  treatise  on 
bridge.  The  library  she  had  collected  at  Rivington  she 
had  brought  with  her,  and  was  adding  to  it  from  time  to 
time.  Its  volumes  are  neither  sufficiently  extensive  or 
profound  to  enumerate. 

Those  who  are  more  or  less  skilled  in  psychology  may 
attempt  to  establish  a sequence  between  the  events  and 
reflections  just  related  and  the  fact  that,  one  morning  a 
fortnight  later,  Honora  found  herself  driving  northward 
on  Fifth  Avenue  in  a hansom  cab.  She  was  in  a pleasur- 
able state  of  adventurous  excitement,  comparable  to  that 
Columbus  must  have  felt  when  the  shores  of  the  Old  World 
had  disappeared  below  the  horizon.  During  the  fortnight 
we  have  skipped  Honora  had  been  to  town  several  times, 
and  had  driven  and  walked  through  certain  streets:  in- 
spiration, courage,  and  decision  had  all  arrived  at  once 


OF  MENTAL  PROCESSES 


239 


this  morning,  when  at  the  ferry  she  had  given  the  cabman 
this  particular  address  on  Fifth  Avenue. 

The  cab,  with  the  jerking  and  thumping  peculiar  to 
hansoms,  made  a circle  and  drew  up  at  the  curb.  But 
even  then  a moment  of  irresolution  intervened,  and  she 
sat  staring  through  the  little  side  window  at  the  sign, 
T.  Gierald  Shorter , Real  Estate,  in  neat  gold  letters  over 
the  basement  floor  of  the  building. 

“ Here  y’are,  Miss,”  said  the  cabman  through  the  hole 
in  the  roof. 

Honora  descended,  and  was  almost  at  the  flight  of  steps 
leading  down  to  the  office  door  when  a familiar  figure  ap- 
peared coming  out  of  it.  It  was  that  of  Mr.  Toots  Cuth- 
bert, arrayed  in  a faultless  morning  suit,  his  tie  delicately 
suggestive  of  falling  leaves;  and  there  dangled  over  his 
arm  the  slenderest  of  walking  sticks. 

“ Mrs.  Spence ! ” he  lisped,  with  every  appearance  of 
joy. 

“Mr.  Cuthbert!  ” she  cried. 

“ Going  in  to  see  Jerry  ? ” he  inquired  after  he  had  put 
on  his  hat,  nodding  up  at  the  sign. 

“I  — that  is,  yes,  I had  thought  of  it,”  she  answered. 

“Town  house?”  said  Mr.  Cuthbert,  with  a knowing 
smile. 

“ I did  have  an  idea  of  looking  at  houses,”  she  confessed, 
somewhat  taken  aback. 

“ I’m  your  man,”  announced  Mr.  Cuthbert. 

“You!”  exclaimed  Honora,  with  an  air  of  considering 
the  lilies  of  the  field.  But  he  did  not  seem  to  take 
offence. 

“ That’s  my  business,”  he  proclaimed,  — “ when  in  town. 
Jerry  gives  me  a commission.  Come  in  and  see  him, 
while  I get  a list  and  some  keys.  By  the  way,  you 
wouldn’t  object  to  telling  him  you  were  a friend  of  mine, 
would  yon  ? ” 

“Not  at  all,”  said  Honora,  laughing. 

Mr.  Shorter  was  a jovial  gentleman  in  loose-fitting 
clothes,  and  he  was  exceedingly  glad  to  meet  Mr.  Cuth- 
bert’s  friend. 


240 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


“What  kind  of  a house  do  you  want,  Mrs.  Spence?”  he 
asked.  “ Cuthbert  tells  me  this  morning  that  the  Whit- 
worth house  has  come  into  the  market.  You  couldn’t 
have  a better  location  than  that,  on  the  Avenue  between 
the  Cathedral  and  the  Park.” 

“ Oh,”  said  Honora  with  a gasp,  “ that’s  much  too  ex- 
pensive, I’m  sure.  And  there  are  only  two  of  us.”  She 
hesitated,  a little  alarmed  at  the  rapidity  with  which 
affairs  were  proceeding,  and  added:  “I  ought  to  tell  you 
that  I’ve  not  really  decided  to  take  a house.  I wished  to 
— to  see  what  there  was  to  be  had,  and  then  I should  have 
to  consult  my  husband.” 

She  gazed  very  seriously  into  Mr.  Shorter’s  brown  eyes, 
which  became  very  wide  and  serious,  too.  But  all  the 
time  it  seemed  to  her  that  other  parts  of  him  were  laugh- 
ing. 

“ Husbands,”  he  declared,  “ are  kill-joys.  What  have 
they  got  to  do  with  a house  — except  to  sleep  in  it  ? 
Now  I haven’t  the  pleasure  of  knowing  you  as  well  as  I 
hope  to  one  of  these  days,  Mrs.  Spence  — ” 

“ Oh,  I say ! ” interrupted  Mr.  Cuthbert. 

“ But  I venture  to  predict,  on  a slight  acquaintance,” 
continued  Mr.  Shorter,  undisturbed,  “that  you  will  pick 
out  the  house  you  want,  and  that  your  husband  will  move 
into  it.” 

Honora  could  not  help  laughing.  And  Mr.  Shorter 
leaned  back  in  his  revolving  chair  and  laughed,  too,  in  so 
alarming  a manner  as  to  lead  her  to  fear  he  would  fall 
over  backwards.  But  Mr.  Cuthbert,  who  did  not  appear 
to  perceive  the  humour  in  this  conversation,  extracted 
some  keys  and  several  pasteboard  slips  from  a rack  in  the 
corner.  Suddenly  Mr.  Shorter  jerked  himself  upright 
again,  and  became  very  solemn. 

“Where’s  my  hat?”  he  demanded. 

“ What  do  you  want  with  your  hat  ? ” Mr.  Cuthbert 
inquired. 

“ Why,  I’m  going  with  you,  of  course,”  Mr.  Shorter  re- 
plied. “ I’ve  decided  to  take  a personal  interest  in  this 
matter.  You  may  regard  my  presence,  Cuthbert,  as  justi- 


OF  MENTAL  PROCESSES  241 

fied  by  an  artistic  passion  for  my  profession.  I should 
never  forgive  myself  if  Mrs.  Spence  didn’t  get  just  the 
right  house.” 

“ Oh,”  said  Mr.  Cuthbert,  “ I’ll  manage  that  all  right. 
I thought  you  were  going  to  see  the  representative  of  a 
syndicate  at  eleven.” 

Mr.  Shorter,  with  a sigh,  acknowledged  this  necessity, 
and  escorted  Honora 
gallantly  through  the 
office  and  across  the 
sidewalk  to  the  waiting 
hansom.  Cuthbert  got 
in  beside  her. 

“ Jerry’s  a joker,”  he 
observed  as  they  drove 
off,  “ you  mustn’t  mind 
him.” 

“ I think  he’s  delight- 
ful,” said  Honora. 

“ One  wouldn’t  be- 
lieve that  a man  of  his 
size  and  appearance 
could  be  so  fond  of 
women,”  said  Mr. 

Cuthbert.  “ He’s  the  greatest  old  lady-killer  that  ever 
breathed.  For  two  cents  he  would  have  come  with  us 
this  morning,  and  let  a five  thousand  dollar  commission 
go.  Do  you  know  Mrs.  Shorter  ? ” 

“No,”  replied  Honora.  “ She  looks  most  attractive.  I 
caught  a glimpse  of  her  at  the  polo  that  day  with  you.” 

“I’ve  been  at  her  house  in  Newport  ever  since.  Came 
down  yesterday  to  try  to  earn  some  money,”  he  continued, 
cheerfully  making  himself  agreeable.  “ Deuced  clever 
woman,  much  too  clever  for  me  — and  Jerry  too.  Always 
in  a tete-a-tete  with  an  antiquarian  or  a pathologist,  or  a 
psychologist,  and  tells  novelists  what  to  put  into  their  next 
books  and  jurists  how  to  decide  cases.  Full  of  modern  and 
liberal  ideas  — believes  in  free  love  and  all  that  sort  of 
thing,  and  gives  Jerry  the  dickens  for  practising  it.” 


242 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


“ Oh!  ” exclaimed  Honora. 

Mr.  Cuthbert,  however,  did  not  appear  to  realize  that  he 
had  shocked  her. 

“ By  the  way,”  he  asked,  “ have  you  seen  Cecil  Grainger 
since  the  Quicksands  game  ? ” 

“ No,”  she  replied.  “ Has  Mr.  Grainger  been  at  Quick- 
sands since  ? ” 

“Nobody  knows  where  he’s  been,”  answered  Mr.  Cuth- 
bert. “ It’s  a mystery.  He  hasn’t  been  home  — at  New- 
port, I mean  — for  a fortnight.  He’s  never  stayed  away 
so  long  without  letting  any  one  know  where  he  is.  Nat- 
urally they  thought  he  was  at  Mrs.  Name’s  in  Banbury, 
but  she  hasn’t  laid  eyes  on  him.  It’s  a mystery. 
My  own  theory  is  that  he  went  to  sleep  in  a parlour  car 
and  was  sent  to  the  yards,  and  hasn’t  waked  up.” 

“ And  isn’t  Mrs.  Grainger  worried  ? ” asked  Honora. 

“ Oh,  you  never  can  tell  anything  about  her,”  he  said. 
“ Do  you  know  her  ? She’s  a sphinx.  All  the  Pendletons 
are  Stoics.  And  besides,  she’s  been  so  busy  with  this 
Charities  Conference  that  she  hasn’t  had  time  to  think  of 
Cecil.  Who’s  that  ? ” 

“ That  ” was  a lady  from  Rivington,  one  of  Honora’s 
former  neighbours,  to  whom  she  had  bowed.  Life,  indeed, 
is  full  of  contrasts.  Mr.  Cuthbert,  too,  was  continually 
bowing  and  waving  to  acquaintances  on  the  Avenue. 

Thus  pleasantly  conversing,  they  arrived  at  the  first 
house  on  the  list,  and  afterwards  went  through  a succession 
of  them.  Once  inside,  Honora  would  look  helplessly  about 
her  in  the  darkness  while  her  escort  would  raise  the  shades, 
admitting  a gloomy  light  on  bare  interiors  or  shrouded 
furniture. 

And  the  rents  ! Four,  five,  six,  and  seven  and  eight 
thousand  dollars  a year.  Pride  prevented  her  from  dis- 
cussing these  prices  with  Mr.  Cuthbert ; and  in  truth, 
when  lunch  time  came,  she  had  seen  nothing  which  realized 
her  somewhat  vague  but  persistent  ideals. 

“ I’m  so  much  obliged  to  you,”  she  said,  “ and  I hope 
you’ll  forgive  me  for  wasting  your  time.” 

Mr.  Cuthbert  smiled  broadly,  and  Honora  smiled  too. 


OF  MENTAL  PROCESSES 


243 


Indeed,  there  was  something  ludicrous  in  the  remark.  He 
assumed  an  attitude  of  reflection. 

“ I imagine  you  wouldn’t  care  to  go  over  beyond  Lex- 
ington Avenue,  would  you?  I didn’t  think  to  ask  you.” 

“No,”  she  replied,  blushing  a little,  “ I shouldn’t  care 
to  go  over  as  far  as  that.” 

He  pondered  a while  longer,  when  suddenly  his  face 
lighted  up. 

“I’ve  got  it ! ” he  cried,  “the  very  thing  — why  didn’t 
I think  of  it  ? Dicky  Farnham’s  house,  or  rather  his  wife’s 
house.  I’ll  get  it  straight  after  a while,  — she  isn’t  his 
wife  any  more,  you  know;  she  married  Eustace  Rindge 
last  month.  That’s  the  reason  it’s  for  rent.  Dicky  says 
he’ll  never  get  married  again  — you  bet ! They  planned 
it  together,  laid  the  corner-stone  and  all  that  sort  of  thing, 
and  before  it  was  finished  she  had  a divorce  and  had  gone 
abroad  with  Rindge.  I saw  her  before  she  sailed,  and  she 
begged  me  to  rent  it.  But  it  isn’t  furnished.” 

“ I might  look  at  it,”  said  Honora,  dubiously. 

“ I’m  sure  it  will  just  suit  you,”  he  declared  with  enthu- 
siasm. “ It’s  a real  find.  We’ll  drive  around  by  the  office 
and  get  the  keys.” 

The  house  was  between  Fifth  Avenue  and  Madison, 
on  a cross  street  not  far  below  Fifty-Ninth,  and  Honora 
had  scarcely  entered  the  little  oak-panelled  hall  before  she 
had  forgotten  that  Mr.  Cuthbert  was  a real  estate  agent 
— a most  difficult  thing  to  remember. 

Upstairs,  the  drawing-room  was  flooded  with  sunlight 
that  poured  in  through  a window  with  stone  mullions  and 
leaded  panes  extending  the  entire  width  of  the  house. 
Against  the  wall  stood  a huge  stone  mantel  of  the  Tudor 
period,  and  the  ceiling  was  of  wood.  Behind  the  little 
hall  a cosey  library  lighted  by  a well,  and  behind  that  an 
ample  dining-room.  And  Honora  remembered  to  have 
seen,  in  a shop  on  Fourth  Avenue,  just  the  sideboard  for 
such  a setting. 

On  the  third  floor,  as  Mr.  Cuthbert  pointed  out,  there 
was  a bedroom  and  boudoir  for  Mrs.  Spence,  and  a bed- 
room and  dressing-room  for  Mr.  Spence.  Into  the  domes- 


244 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


tic  ariangement  of  the  house,  however  important,  we  need 
not  penetrate.  The  rent  was  eight  thousand  dollars,  which 
Mr.  Cuthbert  thought  extremely  reasonable. 

“ Eight  thousand  dollars  ! ” As  she  stood  with  her  back 
turned,  looking  out  on  the  street,  some  trick  of  memory 
brought  into  her  mind  the  fact  that  she  had  once  heard 
her  uncle  declare  that  he  had  bought  his  house  and  lot  for 
that  exact  sum.  And  as  cashier  of  Mr.  Isham’s  bank,  he 
did  not  earn  so  much  in  a year. 

She  had  found  the  house,  indeed,  but  the  other  and 
mightier  half  of  the  task  remained,  of  getting  Howard  into 
it.  In  the  consideration  of  this  most  difficult  of  problems 
Honora,  who  in  her  exaltation  had  beheld  herself  installed 
in  every  room,  grew  suddenly  serious.  She  was  startled 
out  of  her  reflections  by  a remark  of  almost  uncanny  pene- 
tration on  the  part  of  Mr.  Cuthbert. 

“Oh,  he’ll  come  round  all  right,  when  he  sees  the 
house,”  that  young  gentleman  declared. 

Honora  turned  quickly,  and,  after  a moment  of  astonish- 
ment, laughed  in  spite  of  herself.  It  was  impossible  not 
to  laugh  with  Mr.  Cuthbert,  so  irresistible  and  debonair 
was  he,  so  confiding  and  sympathetic,  that  he  became,  be- 
fore one  knew  it,  an  accomplice.  Had  he  not  poured  out 
to  Honora,  with  a charming  gayety  and  frankness,  many 
of  his  financial  troubles  ? 

“ I’m  afraid  he’ll  think  it  frightfully  expensive,”  she 
answered,  becoming  thoughtful  once  more.  And  it  did 
not  occur  to  her  that  neither  of  them  had  mentioned  the 
individual  to  whom  they  referred. 

“ Wait  until  he’s  feeling  tiptop,”  Mr.  Cuthbert  ad- 
vised, “ and  then  bring  him  up  here  in  a hurry.  I say,  I 
hope  you  do  take  the  house,”  he  added,  with  a boyish  se- 
riousness after  she  had  refused  his  appeal  to  lunch  with 
him,  “ and  that  you  will  let  me  come  and  see  you  once  in 
a while.” 

She  lunched  alone,  in  a quiet  corner  of  the  dining-room 
of  one  of  the  large  hotels,  gazing  at  intervals  absently  out 
of  the  window.  And  by  the  middle  of  the  afternoon  she 
found  herself,  quite  unexpectedly,  in  the  antique  furniture 


OF  MENTAL  PROCESSES 


245 


shop,  gazing  at  the  sideboard  and  a set  of  leather-seated 
Jacobean  chairs,  and  bribing  the  dealer  with  a smile  to 
hold  them  for  a few  da}^s  until  she  could  decide  whether 
she  wished  them.  In  a similar  mood  of  abstraction  she 
boarded  the  ferry,  but  it  was  not  until  the  boat  had  started, 
on  its  journey  that  she  became  aware  of  a trim,  familiar 
figure  in  front  of  her,  silhouetted  against  the  ruffled  blue 
waters  of  the  river  — Trixton  Brent’s.  And  presently,  as 
though  the  concentration  of  her  thoughts  upon  his  back 
had  summoned  him,  he  turned. 

“ Where  have  you  been  all  this  time  ? ” she  asked.  “ I 
haven’t  seen  you  for  an  age.” 

“ To  Seattle.” 

“To  Seattle!  ” she  exclaimed.  “ What  were  you  doing 
there  ? ” 

“Trying  to  forget  you,”  he  replied  promptly,  “and  in- 
cidentally attempting  to  obtain  control  of  some  properties. 
Both  efforts,  I may  add,  were  unsuccessful.” 

“ I’m  sorry,”  said  Honora. 

“And  what  mischief,”  he  demanded,  “have  you  been 
up  to  ? ” 

“ You’ll  never  guess  ! ” she  exclaimed. 

“ Preparing  for  the  exodus,”  he  hazarded. 

“ You  surely  don’t  expect  me  to  stay  in  Quicksands  all 
winter?”  she  replied,  a little  guiltily. 

“ Quicksands,”  he  declared,  “ has  passed  into  his- 
tory.” 

“ You  always  insist  upon  putting  a wrong  interpretation 
upon  what  I do,”  she  complained. 

He  laughed. 

“ What  interpretation  do  you  put  on  it  ? ” he  asked 

“ A most  natural  and  praiseworthy  one,”  she  answered. 
“Education,  improvement,  growth  — these  things  are  as 
necessary  for  a woman  as  for  a man.  Of  course  I don’t 
expect  you  to  believe  that  - — your  idea  of  women  not  being 
a very  exalted  one.” 

He  did  not  reply,  for  at  that  instant  the  bell  rang, 
the  passengers  pressed  forward  about  them,  and  they  were 
soon  in  the  midst  of  the  confusion  of  a landing.  It  was 


246 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


not  until  they  were  seated  in  adjoining  chairs  of  the  par- 
lour car  that  the  conversation  was  renewed. 

“ When  do  you  move  to  town  ? ” he  inquired. 

However  simple  Mr.  Brent’s  methods  of  reasoning  may 
appear  to  others,  his  apparent  clairvoyance  never  failed  to 
startle  Honora. 

“ Somebody  has  told  you  that  I’ve  been  looking  at 
houses!  ” she  exclaimed. 

“ Have  you  found  one  ? ” 

She  hesitated. 

“ Yes  — I have  found  one.  It  belongs  to  some  people 
named  Farnham  — they’re  divorced.” 

“Dicky  Farnham’s  ex-wife,”  he  supplied.  “I  know 
where  it  is  — unexceptionable  neighbourhood  and  all  that 
sort  of  thing.” 

“ And  it’s  just  finished,”  continued  Honora,  her  enthusi- 
asm gaining  on  her  as  she  spoke  of  the  object  which  had 
possessed  her  mind  for  four  hours.  “ It’s  the  most  en- 
chanting house,  and  so  sunny  for  New  York.  If  I had 
built  it  myself  it  could  not  have  suited  me  better. 
Only  — ” 

“ Only  — ” repeated  Trixton  Brent,  smiling. 

“Well,”  she  said  slowly,  “I  really  oughtn’t  to  talk 
about  it.  I — -I  haven’t  said  anything  to  Howard  yet,  and 
he  may  not  like  it.  I ran  across  it  by  the  merest  acci- 
dent.” 

“ What  will  you  give  me,”  he  said,  “ if  I can  induce 
Howard  to  like  it  ? ” 

“ My  eternal  friendship,”  she  laughed. 

“That’s  not  enough,”  said  Trixton  Brent. 


CHAPTER  IX 


INTRODUCING  A REVOLUTIONIZING  VEHICLE 

“ Howard,”  said  Honora  that  evening,  “ I’ve  been  going 
through  houses  to-day.” 

“ Houses  ! ” he  exclaimed,  looking  up  from  his  newspaper. 
“ And  I’ve  been  most  fortunate,”  she  continued.  “ I 
found  one  that  Mrs.  Farnham  built  — she  is  now  Mrs. 
Rindge.  It  is  just  finished,  and  so  attractive.  If  I’d 
looked  until  doomsday  I couldn’t  have  done  any  better.” 
“ But  great  Scott  ! ” he  ejaculated,  “ wdiat  put  the 
notion  of  a town  house  into  your  head  ? ” 

“ Isn’t  it  high  time  to  be  thinking  of  the  winter  ? ” she 
asked.  “ It’s  nearly  the  end  of  September.” 

He  was  inarticulate  for  a few  moments,  in  an  evident 
desperate  attempt  to  rally  his  forces  to  meet  such  an  un- 
foreseen attack. 

“ Who  said  anything  about  going  to  town  ? ” he  inquired. 
“ Now,  Howard,  don’t  be  foolish,”  she  replied.  “ Surely 
you  didn’t  expect  to  stay  in  Quicksands  all  winter?  ” 
“Foolish!”  he  repeated,  and  added  inconsequently, 
“ why  not  ? ” 

“ Because,”  said  Honora,  calmly,  “ I have  a life  to  lead 
as  well  as  you.” 

“ But  you  weren’t  satisfied  until  you  got  to  Quicksands, 
and  now  you  want  to  leave  it.” 

“ I didn’t  bargain  to  stay  here  in  the  winter,”  she  de- 
clared. “You  know  very  well  that  if  you  were  unfortu- 
nate it  would  be  different.  But  you’re  quite  prosperous.” 
“ How  do  you  know  ? ” he  demanded  unguardedly. 
“Quicksands  tells  me,”  she  said.  “It  is  — a little  hu- 
miliating not  to  have  more  of  your  confidence,  and  to  hear 
such  things  from  outsiders.” 

247 


248 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


“ Yon  never  seemed  interested  in  business  matters,”  be 
answered  uneasily. 

“ I should  be,”  said  Honora,  “ if  you  would  only  take 
the  trouble  to  tell  me  about  them.”  She  stood  up. 
“ Howard,  can’t  you  see  that  it  is  making  us  — grow  apart  ? 
If  you  won’t  tell  me  about  yourself  and  what  you’re 
doing,  you  drive  me  to  other  interests.  I am  your  wife, 
and  I ought  to  know  — I want  to  know.  The  reason 
I don’t  understand  is  because  you’ve  never  taken  the 
trouble  to  teach  me.  I wish  to  lead  my  own  life,  it  is 
true  — to  develop.  I don’t  want  to  be  like  these  other 
women  down  here.  I — I was  made  for  something  better. 
I’m  sure  of  it.  But  I wish  my  life  to  be  joined  to  yours, 
too  — and  it  doesn’t  seem  to  be.  And  sometimes — T’m 
afraid  I can’t  explain  it  to  you  — sometimes  I feel 
lonely  and  frightened,  as  though  I might  do  something 
desperate.  And  I don’t  know  what’s  going  to  become  of 
me.” 

He  laid  down  his  newspaper  and  stared  at  her  helplessly, 
with  the  air  of  a man  who  suddenly  finds  himself  at  sea 
in  a small  boat  without  oars. 

“ Oh,  you  can’t  understand  ! ” she  cried.  “ I might 
have  known  you  never  could.” 

He  was,  indeed,  thoroughly  perplexed  and  uncomfort- 
able : unhappy  might  not  be  too  strong  a word.  He  got 
up  awkwardly  and  put  his  hand  on  her  arm.  She  did  not 
respond.  He  drew  her,  limp  and  unresisting,  down  on  the 
lounge  beside  him. 

“For  heaven’s  sake,  what  is  the  matter,  Honora?”  he 
faltered.  “I — I thought  we  were  happy.  You  were 
getting  on  all  right,  and  seemed  to  be  having  a good  time 
down  here.  You  never  said  anything  about  — this.” 

She  turned  her  head  and  looked  at  him  — a long,  search- 
ing look  with  widened  eyes. 

“No,”  she  said  slowly,  “you  don’t  understand.  I sup- 
pose it  isn’t  your  fault.” 

“ I’ll  try,”  he  said,  “ I don’t  like  to  see  you — upset  like 
this.  I’ll  do  anything  I can  to  make  you  happy.” 

“Not  things , not  — not  toys,”  Trixton  Brent’s  expres- 


A REVOLUTIONIZING  VEHICLE 


249 


sion  involuntarily  coming  to  her  lips.  “ Oh,  can’t  you 
see  I’m  not  that  kind  of  a woman  ? I don’t  want  to  be 
bought.  I want  you , whatever  you  are,  if  you  are.  I 
want  to  be  saved.  Take  care  of  me  — see  a little  more  of 
me  — be  a little  interested  in  what  I think.  God  gave 
me  a mind,  and  — other  men  have  discovered  it.  You 
don’t  know,  you  can’t  know,  what  temptations  you  subject 
me  to.  It  isn’t  right,  Howard.  And  oh,  it  is  humiliating 
not  to  be  able  to  interest  one’s  husband.” 

“ But  you  do  interest  me,”  he  protested. 

She  shook  her  head. 

“Not  so  much  as  your  business,”  she  said;  “not  — 
nearly  so  much.” 

“Perhaps  I have  been  too  absorbed,”  he  confessed. 
“ One  thing  has  followed  another.  I didn’t  suspect  that 
you  felt  this  way.  Come,  I’ll  try  to  brace  up.”  He 
pressed  her  to  him.  “Don’t  feel  badly.  You’re  over- 
wrought. You’ve  exaggerated  the  situation,  Honora. 
We’ll  go  in  on  the  eight  o’clock  train  together  and  look 
at  the  house  — although  I’m  afraid  it’s  a little  steep,”  he 
added  cautiously. 

“ I don’t  care  anything  about  the  house,”  said  Honora. 
“ I don’t  want  it.” 

“ There  ! ” he  said  soothingly,  “ you'll  feel  differently  in 
the  morning.  We’ll  go  and  look  at  it,  anyway.” 

Her  quick  ear,  however,  detected  an  undertone  which, 
if  not  precisely  resentment,  was  akin  to  the  vexation  that 
an  elderly  gentleman  might  be  justified  in  feeling  who  has 
taken  the  same  walk  for  twenty  years,  and  is  one  day 
struck  by  a falling  brick.  Howard  had  not  thought  of 
consulting  her  in  regard  to  remaining  all  winter  in  Quick- 
sands. And,  although  he  might  not  realize  it  himself,  if 
he  should  consent  to  go  to  New  York  one  reason  for  his 
acquiescence  would  be  that  the  country  in  winter  offered  a 
more  or  less  favourable  atmosphere  for  the  recurrence  of 
similar  unpleasant  and  unaccountable  domestic  convul- 
sions. Business  demands  peace  at  any  price.  And  the 
ultimatum  at  Rivington,  though  delivered  in  so  different 
a manner,  recurred  to -him. 


250 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


The  morning  sunlight,  as  is  well  known,  is  a dispeller 
of  moods,  a disintegrator  of  the  night’s  fantasies.  It 
awoke  Honora  at  what  for  her  was  a comparatively  early 
hour,  and  as  she  dressed  rapidly  she  heard  her  husband 
whistling  in  his  room.  It  is  idle  to  speculate  on  the 
phenomenon  taking  place  within  her,  and  it  may  merely 
be  remarked  in  passing  that  she  possessed  a quality  which, 
in  a man,  leads  to  a career  and  fame.  Unimagined  num- 
bers of  America’s  women  possess  that  quality  — a fact 
that  is  becoming  more  and  more  apparent  every  day. 

44  Why,  Honora!”  Howard  exclaimed,  as  she  appeared 
at  the  breakfast  table.  44  What’s  happened  to  you  ? ” 

44  Have  you  forgotten  already,”  she  asked,  smilingly,  as 
she  poured  out  her  coffee,  44  that  we  are  going  to  town  to- 
gether ? ” 

He  readjusted  his  newspaper  against  the  carafe. 

44  How  much  do  you  think  Mrs.  Farnham  — or  Mrs. 
Rindge  — is  worth  ? ” he  asked. 

44  I’m  sure  I don’t  know,”  she  replied. 

44  Old  Marshall  left  her  five  million  dollars.” 

44  What  has  that  to  do  with  it  ? ” inquired  Honora. 

44  She  isn’t  going  to  rent,  especially  in  that  part  of  town, 
for  nothing.” 

44  Wouldn’t  it  be  wiser,  Howard,  to  wait  and  see  the 
house.  You  know  you  proposed  it  yourself,  and  it  won’t 
take  very  much  of  your  time.” 

He  returned  to  a perusal  of  the  financial  column,  but 
his  eye  from  time  to  time  wandered  from  the  sheet  to  his 
wife,  who  was  reading  her  letters. 

44  Howard,”  she  said,  44 1 feel  dreadfully  about  Mrs. 
Holt.  We  haven’t  been  at  Silverdale  all  summer.  Here’s 
a note  from  her  saying  she’ll  be  in  town  to-morrow  for 
the  Charities  Conference,  asking  me  to  come  to  see 
her  at  her  hotel.  I think  I’ll  go  to  Silverdale  a little 
later.” 

44  Why  don’t  you  ? ” he  said.  44  It  would  do  you  good.” 

44  And  you  ?”  she  asked. 

44  My  only  day  of  the  week  is  Sunday,  Honora.  You 
know  that.  And  I wouldn’t  spend  another  day  at  Silver- 


A REVOLUTIONIZING  VEHICLE 


251 


dale  if  they  gave  me  a deed  to  the  property,”  he  de- 
clared. 

On  the  train,  when  Howard  had  returned  from  the 
smoking  car  and  they  were  about  to  disembark  at  Long 
Island  City,  they  encountered  Mr.  Trixton  Brent. 

“ Whither  away  ? ” he  cried  in  apparent  astonishment. 
“ Up  at  dawn,  and  the  eight  o’clock  train!  ” 

“We  were  going  to  look  at  a house,”  explained  Honora, 
“and  Howard  has  no  other  time.” 

“I’ll  go,  too,”  declared  Mr.  Brent,  promptly.  “You 
mightn’t  think  me  a judge  of  houses,  but  I am.  I’ve 
lived  in  so  many  bad  ones  that  I know  a good  one  when 
I see  it  now.” 

“ Honora  has  got  a wild  notion  into  her  head  that  I’m 
going  to  take  the  Farnham  house,”  said  Howard,  smiling. 
There,  on  the  deck  of  the  ferryboat,  in  the  flooding  sun- 
light, the  idea  seemed  to  give  him  amusement.  With  the 
morning  light  Pharaoh  must  have  hardened  his  heart. 

“ Well,  perhaps  you  are,”  said  Mr.  Brent,  conveying  to 
Honora  his  delight  in  the  situation  by  a scarcely  percepti- 
ble wink.  “ I shouldn’t  like  to  take  the  other  end  of  the 
bet.  Why  shouldn’t  you?  You’re  fat  and  healthy  and 
making  money  faster  than  you  can  gather  it  in.” 

Howard  coughed,  and  laughed  a little,  uncomfortably. 
Trixton  Brent  was  not  a man  to  offend. 

“ Honora  has  got  that  delusion,  too,”  he  replied.  He 
steeled  himself  in  his  usual  manner  for  the  ordeal  to  come 
by  smoking  a cigarette,  for  the  arrival  of  such  a powerful 
ally  on  his  wife’s  side  lent  a different  aspect  to  the  situation. 

Honora,  during  this  colloquy,  was  silent.  She  was  a 
little  uncomfortable,  and  pretended  not  to  see  Mr.  Brent’s 
wink. 

“Incredible  as  it  may  seem,  I expected  to  have  my 
automobile  ready  this  morning,”  he  observed;  “we  might 
have  gone  in  that.  It  landed  three  days  ago,  but  so  far 
it  has  failed  to  do  anything  but  fire  off  revolver  shots.” 

“ Oh,  I do  wish  you  had  it,”  said  Honora,  relieved  by 
the  change  of  subject.  “To  drive  in  one  must  be  such  a 
wonderful  sensation.” 


252 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


“ I’ll  let  you  know  when  it  stops  shooting  up  the  garage 
and  consents  to  move  out,”  he  said.  “ I’ll  take  you  down 
to  Quicksands  in  it.” 

The  prospective  arrival  of  Mr.  Brent’s  French  motor 
car,  which  was  looked  for  daily,  had  indeed  been  one  of 
the  chief  topics  of  conversation  at  Quicksands  that  sum- 
mer. He  could  appear  at  no  lunch  or  dinner  party  with- 
out being  subjected  to  a shower  of  questions  as  to  where 
it  was,  and  as  many  as  half  a dozen  different  women  — 
among  whom  was  Mrs.  Chandos  — declared  that  he  had 
promised  to  bring  them  out  from  New  York  on  the  occa- 
sion of  its  triumphal  entry  into  the  colony.  Honora, 
needless  to  say,  had  betrayed  no  curiosity. 

Neither  Mr.  Shorter  nor  Mr.  Cuthbert  had  appeared  at 
the  real  estate  office  when,  at  a little  after  nine  o’clock, 
Honora  asked  for  the  keys.  And  an  office  boy,  perched 
on  the  box  seat  of  the  carriage,  drove  with  them  to  the 
house  and  opened  the  wrought-iron  gate  that  guarded  the 
entrance,  and  the  massive  front  door.  Honora  had  a sense 
of  unreality  as  they  entered,  and  told  herself  it  was  obvi- 
ously ridiculous  that  she  should  aspire  to  such  a dwelling. 
Yesterday,  under  the  spell  of  that  somewhat  adventurous 
excursion  with  Mr.  Cuthbert,  she  had  pictured  herself  as 
installed.  He  had  contrived  somehow  to  give  her  a sense 
of  intimacy  with  the  people  who  lived  thereabout  — his 
own  friends. 

Perhaps  it  was  her  husband  who  was  the  disillusioniz- 
ing note  as  he  stood  on  the  polished  floor  of  the  sun- 
flooded  drawing-room.  Although  bare  of  furniture,  it 
was  eloquent  to  Honora  of  a kind  of  taste  not  to  be  found 
at  Quicksands  : it  carried  her  back,  by  undiscernible 
channels  of  thought,  to  the  impression  which,  in  her  child- 
hood, the  Hanbury  mansion  had  always  made.  Howard, 
in  her  present  whimsical  fancy,  even  seemed  a little 
grotesque  in  such  a setting.  His  inevitable  pink  shirt 
and  obviously  prosperous  clothes  made  discord  there,  and 
she  knew  in  this  moment  that  he  was  appraising  the 
house  from  a commercial  standpoint.  His  comment  con- 
firmed her  guess. 


A REVOLUTIONIZING  VEHICLE 


253 


“ If  I were  starting  out  to  blow  myself,  or  you,  Honora,” 
he  said,  poking  with  his  stick  a marmouset  of  the  carved 
stone  mantel,  “ I’d  get  a little  more  for  my  money  while 
I was  about  it.” 

Honora  did  not  reply.  She  looked  out  of  the  window 
instead. 

“ See  here,  old  man,”  said  Trixton  Brent,  “ I’m  not  a 
real  estate  dealer  or  an  architect,  but  if  I were  in  your 
place  I’d  take  that  carriage  and  hustle  over  to  Jerry 
Shorter’s  as  fast  as  I could  and  sign  the  lease.” 

Howard  looked  at  him  in  some  surprise,  as  one  who  had 
learned  that  Trixton  Brent’s  opinions  were  usually  worth 
listening  to.  Characteristically,  he  did  not  like  to  dis- 
play his  ignorance. 

“I  know  what  you  mean,  Brent,”  he  replied,  “and 
there  may  be  something  to  the  argument.  It  gives  an 
idea  of  conservativeness  and  prosperity.” 

“You’ve  made  a bull’s-eye,”  said  Trixton  Brent,  suc- 
cinctly. 

“But  — but  I’m  not  ready  to  begin  on  this  scale,” 
objected  Howard. 

“ Why,”  cried  Brent,  with  evident  zest  — for  he  was  a 
man  who  enjoyed  sport  in  all  its  forms,  even  to  baiting 
the  husbands  of  his  friends,  — “ when  I first  set  eyes 
on  you,  old  fellow,  I thought  you  knew  a thing  or  two, 
and  you’ve  made  a few  turns  since  that  confirmed  the 
opinion.  But  I’m  beginning  to  perceive  that  you  have 
limitations.  I could  sit  down  here  now,  if  there  were  any 
place  to  sit,  and  calculate  how  much  living  in  this  house 
would  be  worth  to  me  in  Wall  Street.” 

Honora,  who  had  been  listening  uneasily,  knew  that  a 
shrewder  or  more  disturbing  argument  could  not  have 
been  used  on  her  husband  ; and  it  came  from  Trixton 
Brent  — to  Howard  at  least  — ex  cathedrd . She  was 

filled  with  a sense  of  shame,  which  was  due  not  solely 
to  the  fact  that  she  was  a little  conscience-stricken  be- 
cause of  her  innocent  complicity,  nor  that  her  husband 
did  not  resent  an  obvious  attempt  of  a high-handed  man 
to  browbeat  him  ; but  also  to  the  feeling  that  the  char- 


254 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


acter  of  the  discussion  had  in  some  strange  way  degraded 
the  house  itself.  Why  was  it  that  everything  she  touched 
seemed  to  become  contaminated  ? 

“ There’s  no  use  staying  any  longer,”  she  said.  “ Howard 
doesn’t  like  it — ” 

“ I didn’t  say  so,”  he  interrupted.  “ There’s  something 
about  the  place  that  grows  on  you.  If  I felt  I could 
afford  it  — ” 

“ At  any  rate,”  declared  Honora,  trying  to  control  her 
voice,  “ I’ve  decided,  now  I’ve  seen  it  a second  time,  that 
I don’t  want  it.  I only  wished  him  to  look  at  it,”  she 
added,  scornfully  aware  that  she  was  taking  up  the 
cudgels  in  his  behalf.  But  she  could  not  bring  herself,  in 
Brent’s  presence,  to  declare  that  the  argument  of  the  rent 
seemed  decisive. 

Her  exasperation  was  somewhat  increased  by  the  ex- 
pression on  Trixton  Brent’s  face,  which  plainly  declared 
that  he  deemed  her  last  remarks  to  be  the  quintessence  of 
tactics;  and  he  obstinately  refused,  as  they  went  down 
the  stairs  to  the  street,  to  regard  the  matter  as  closed. 

“ I’ll  take  him  down  town  in  the  Elevated,”  he  said, 
as  he  put  her  into  the  carriage.  “ The  first  round’s  a 
draw.” 

She  directed  the  driver  to  the  ferry  again,  and  went 
back  to  Quicksands.  Several  times  during  the  day  she 
was  on  the  point  of  telephoning  Brent  not  to  try  to 
persuade  Howard  to  rent  the  house,  and  once  she  even 
got  so  far  as  to  take  down  the  receiver.  But  when  she 
reflected,  it  seemed  an  impossible  thing  to  do.  At  four 
o’clock  she  herself  was  called  to  the  telephone  by  Mr. 
Cray,  a confidential  clerk  in  Howard’s  office,  who  in- 
formed her  that  her  husband  had  been  obliged  to  leave 
town  suddenly  on  business,  and  would  not  be  home  that 
night. 

“ Didn’t  he  say  where  he  was  going  ? ” asked  Honora. 

“ He  didn’t  even  tell  me,  Mrs.  Spence,”  Cray  replied, 
“ and  Mr.  Dallam  doesn’t  know.” 

“ Oh,  dear,”  said  Honora,  “ I hope  he  realizes  that 
people  are  coming  for  dinner  to-morrow  evening.” 


A REVOLUTIONIZING  VEHICLE 


255 


“I’m  positive,  from  what  he  said,  that  he’ll  be  back 
some  time  to-morrow,”  Cray  reassured  her. 

She  refused  an  invitation  to  dine  out,  and  retired 
shortly  after  her  own  dinner  with  a novel  so  distracting 
that  she  gradually  regained  an  equable  frame  of  mind. 
The  uneasiness,  the  vague  fear  of  the  future,  wore  away, 
and  she  slept  peacefully.  In  the  morning,  however,  she 
found  on  her  breakfast  tray  a note  from  Trixton  Brent. 

Her  first  feeling  after  reading  it  was  one  of  relief  that 
he  had  not  mentioned  the  house.  He  had  written  from  a 
New  York  club,  asking  her  to  lunch  with  him  at  Delmon- 
ico’s  that  day  and  drive  home  in  the  motor.  No  answer 
was  required  : if  she  did  not  appear  at  one  o’clock,  he 
would  know  she  couldn’t  come. 

Honora  took  the  eleven  o’clock  train,  which  gave  her 
an  hour  after  she  arrived  in  New  York  to  do  as  she 
pleased.  Her  first  idea,  as  she  stood  for  a moment  amidst 
the  clamour  of  the  traffic  in  front  of  the  ferry  house,  was 
to  call  on  Mrs.  Holt  at  that  lady’s  hotel;  and  then  she  re- 
membered that  the  Charities  Conference  began  at  eleven, 
and  decided  to  pay  a visit  to  Madame  Dumond,  who  made 
a specialty  of  importing  novelties  in  dress.  Her  costume 
for  the  prospective  excursion  in  the  automobile  had  cost 
Honora  some  thought  that  morning.  As  the  day  was 
cool,  she  had  brought  along  an  ulster  that  was  irreproach- 
able. But  how  about  the  hat  and  veil  ? 

Madame  Dumond  was  enchanted.  She  had  them  both, 
— she  had  landed  with  them  only  last  week.  She  tried 
them  on  Honora,  and  stood  back  with  her  hands  clasped 
in  an  ecstasy  she  did  not  attempt  to  hide.  What  a satis- 
faction to  sell  things  to  Mrs.  Spence!  Some  ladies  she 
could  mention  would  look  like  frights  in  them,  but  Madame 
Spence  had  de  la  race.  She  could  wear  anything  that  was 
chic.  The  hat  and  veil,  said  Madame,  with  a simper,  were 
sixty  dollars. 

“ Sixty  dollars ! ” exclaimed  Honora. 

44  Ah,  madame,  what  would  you  ? ” Novelties  were 
novelties,  the  United  States  Custom  authorities  robbers. 

Having  attended  to  these  important  details,  Honora 


256 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


drove  to  the  restaurant  in  her  hansom  cab,  the  blood 
coursing  pleasantly  in  her  veins.  The  autumn  air 
sparkled,  and  New  York  was  showing  signs  of  animation. 
She  glanced  furtively  into  the  little  mirror  at  the  side. 
Her  veil  was  grey,  and  with  the  hat  gave  her  somewhat 
the  air  of  a religieuse,  an  aspect  heightened  by  the  perfect 
oval  of  her  face;  and  something  akin  to  a religious  thrill 
ran  through  her. 

The  automobile,  with  its  brass  and  varnish  shining  in 
the  sunlight,  was  waiting  a little  way  up  the  street,  and 
the  first  person  Honora  met  in  the  vestibule  of  Delmonico’s 
was  Lula  Chandos.  She  was,  as  usual,  elaborately  dressed, 
and  gave  one  the  impression  of  being  lost,  so  anxiously 
was  she  scanning  the  face  of  every  new  arrival. 

“ Oh,  my  dear,”  she  cried,  staring  hard  at  the  hat  and 
the  veil,  “have  you  seen  Clara  Trowbridge  anywhere?” 

A certain  pity  possessed  Honora  as  she  shook  her  head. 

“ She  was  in  town  this  morning,”  continued  Mrs.  Chan- 
dos, “and  I was  sure  she  was  coming  here  to  lunch. 
Trixy  just  drove  up  a moment  ago  in  his  new  car.  Did 
you  see  it?  ” 

Honora’s  pity  turned  into  a definite  contempt. 

“ I saw  an  automobile  as  I came  in,”  she  said,  but  the 
brevity  of  her  reply  seemed  to  have  no  effect  upon  Mrs. 
Chandos. 

“ There  he  is  now,  at  the  entrance  to  the  cafe,”  she  ex- 
claimed. 

There,  indeed,  was  Trixton  Brent,  staring  at  them  from 
the  end  of  the  hall,  and  making  no  attempt  to  approach 
them. 

“ I think  I’ll  go  into  the  dressing-room  and  leave  my 
coat,”  said  Honora,  outwardly  calm  but  inwardly  desper- 
ate. Fortunately,  Lula  made  no  attempt  to  follow  her. 

“You’re  a dream  in  that  veil,  my  dear,”  Mrs.  Chandos 
called  after  her.  “ Don’t  forget  that  we’re  all  dining  with 
you  to-night  in  Quicksands.” 

Once  in  the  dressing-room,  Honora  felt  like  locking  the 
doors  and  jumping  out  of  the  window.  She  gave  her  coat 
to  the  maid,  rearranged  her  hair  without  any  apparent 


A REVOLUTIONIZING  VEHICLE 


257 


reason,  and  was  leisurely  putting  on  her  hat  again,  and 
wondering  what  she  would  do  next,  when  Mrs.  Kame  ap- 
peared. 

“ Trixy  asked  me  to  get  you,’’  she  explained.  “ Mr. 
Grainger  and  I are  going  to  lunch  with  you.” 

“ How  nice  ! ” said  Honora,  with  such  a distinct  empha- 
sis of  relief  that  Mrs.  Kame  looked  at  her  queerly. 

“ What  a fool  Trixy  was,  with  all  his  experience,  to  get 
mixed  up  with  that  Chandos  woman,”  that  lady  remarked 
as  they  passed  through  the  hallway.  “ She’s  like  molasses 
— one  can  never  get  her  off.  Lucky  thing  he  found  Cecil 
and  me  here.  There’s  your  persistent  friend,  Trixy,”  she 


added,  when  they  were  seated.  “ Really,  this  is  pathetic, 
when  an  invitation  to  lunch  and  a drive  in  your  car  would 
have  made  her  so  happy.” 

Honora  looked  around  and  beheld,  indeed,  Mrs.  Chandos 
and  two  other  Quicksands  women,  Mrs.  Randall  and  Mrs. 
Barclay,  at  a table  in  the  corner  of  the  room. 

“ Where’s  Bessie  to-day,  Cecil  — or  do  you  know  ? ” de- 
manded Mrs.  Kame,  after  an  amused  glance  at  Brent,  who 
had  not  deigned  to  answer  her.  “ I promised  to  go  to 
Newport  with  her  at  the  end  of  the  week,  but  I haven’t 
been  able  to  find  her.” 

“ Cecil  doesn’t  know,”  said  Trixton  Brent.  “ The  police 


258 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


have  been  looking  for  him  for  a fortnight.  Where  the 
deuce  have  you  been,  Cecil  ?” 

44  To  the  Adirondacks,”  replied  Mr  Grainger,  gravely. 

This  explanation,  which  seemed  entirely  plausible  to 
Honora,  appeared  to  afford  great  amusement  to  Brent,  and 
even  to  Mrs.  Kame. 

44  When  did  you  come  to  life  ? ” demanded  Brent. 

44  Yesterday,”  said  Mr.  Grainger,  quite  as  solemnly  as 
before. 

Mrs.  Kame  glanced  curiously  at  Honora,  and  laughed 
again. 

44  You  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  yourself,  Trixy,”  she  said. 

44  Why  ? ” he  asked  innocently.  44  There’s  nothing 
wrong  in  going  to  the  Adirondacks — is  there,  Cecil?” 

44  No,”  said  Mr.  Grainger,  blinking  rapidly. 

44  The  Adirondacks,”  declared  Mrs.  Kame,  44  have  now 
become  classic.” 

44  By  the  way,”  observed  Mr.  Grainger,  44 1 believe 
Bessie’s  in  town  to-day  at  a charity  pow-wow,  reading  a 
paper.  I’ve  half  a mind  to  go  over  and  listen  to  it.  The 
white  dove  of  peace — and  all  that  kind  of  thing.” 

44  You’d  go  to  sleep  and  spoil  it  all,”  said  Brent. 

44  But  you  can’t,  Cecil ! ” cried  Mrs.  Kame.  44  Don’t 
you  remember  we’re  going  to  Westchester  to  the  Faunces’ 
to  spend  the  night  and  play  bridge  ? And  we  promised 
to  arrive  early.” 

44  That’s  so,  by  George,”  said  Mr.  Grainger,  and  he  drank 
the  rest  of  his  wdiiskey-and-soda. 

44  I’ll  tell  you  what  I’ll  do,  if  Mrs.  Spence  is  willing,” 
suggested  Brent.  44  If  you  start  right  after  lunch,  I’ll  take 
you  out.  We’ll  have  plenty  of  time,”  he  added  to  Honora, 
44  to  get  back  to  Quicksands  for  dinner.” 

44  Are  you  sure  ? ” she  asked  anxiously.  44 1 have  people 
for  dinner  to-night.” 

44  Oh,  lots  of  time,”  declared  Mrs.  Kame.  44  Trixy’s 
car  is  some  unheard-of  horse-power.  It’s  only  twenty-five 
miles  to  the  Faunces’,  and  you’ll  be  back  at  the  ferry  by 
half-past  four.” 

44  Easily,”  said  Trixton  Brent. 


CHAPTER  X 


ON  THE  ART  OF  LION  TAMING 


After  lunch,  while  Mrs.  Kame  was  telephoning  to  her 
maid  and  Mr.  Grainger  to  Mrs.  Faunce,  Honora  found  her- 
self alone  with  Trixton  Brent  in  the  automobile  at  a moment 
when  the  Quicksands  party  were  taking  a cab.  Mrs. 
Chandos  paused  long  enough  to  wave  her  hand. 

“ Bon  voyage  ! ” she  cried.  u What  an  ideal  party ! 
and  the  chauffeur  doesn’t  understand  English.  If  you 
don’t  turn  up  this  evening,  Honora,  I’ll  entertain  your 
guests.” 

“We  must  get  back,”  said  Honora,  involuntarily  to 
Brent.  “ It  would  be  too  dreadful  if  we  didn’t  ! ” 

“ Are  you  afraid  I’ll  run  off  with  you  ? ” he  asked. 

“ I believe  you’re  perfectly  capable  of  it,”  she  replied. 
“ If  I were  wise,  I’d  take  the  train.” 

“ Why  don’t  you  ? ” he  demanded. 

She  smiled. 

“ I don’t  know.  It’s  because  of  your  deteriorating  in- 
fluence, I suppose.  And  yet  I trust  you,  in  spite  of  my 
instincts  and  — my  eyes.  I’m  seriously  put  out  with 
you.” 

“ Why?” 

“ I’ll  tell  you  later,  if  you’re  at  a loss,”  she  said,  as  Mrs. 
Kame  and  Mr.  Grainger  appeared. 

Eight  years  have  elapsed  since  that  day  and  this  writing 
— an  aeon  in  this  rapidly  moving  Republic  of  ours.  The 
roads,  although  far  from  perfect  yet,  were  not  then  what 
they  have  since  become.  But  the  weather  was  dry  and 
the  voyage  to  Westchester  accomplished  successfully.  It 
was  half-past  three  when  they  drove  up  the  avenue  and 

259 


260 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


deposited  Mrs.  Kame  and  Cecil  Grainger  at  the  long 
front  of  the  Fannce  house:  and  Brent,  who  had  been 
driving,  relinquished  the  wheel  to  the  chauffeur  and  joined 
Honora  in  the  tonneau.  The  day  was  perfect,  the  woods 
still  heavy  with  summer  foliage,  and  the  only  signs  of 
autumn  were  the  hay  mounds  and  the  yellowing  corn- 
stalks stacked  amidst  the  stubble  of  the  fields. 

Brent  sat  silently  watching  her,  for  she  had  raised  her 
veil  in  saying  good-by  to  Mrs.  Kame,  and — as  the  chauffeur 
was  proceeding  slowly  — had  not  lowered  it.  Suddenly 
she  turned  and  looked  him  full  in  the  face. 

“ What  kind  of  woman  do  you  think  I am  ? ” she 
demanded. 

“ That’s  rather  a big  order,  isn’t  it  ? ” he  said. 

“ I’m  perfectly  serious,”  continued  Honora,  slowly. 
“I’d  really  like  to  know.” 

“ Before  I begin  on  the  somewhat  lengthy  list  of  your 
qualities,”  he  replied,  smiling,  “may  I ask  why  you’d 
like  to  know  ? ” 

“ Yes,”  she  said  quickly.  “ I’d  like  to  know  because  I 
think  you’ve  misjudged  me.  I was  really  more  angry 
than  you  have  any  idea  of  at  the  manner  in  which  you 
talked  to  Howard.  And  did  you  seriously  suppose  that 
I was  in  earnest  when  we  spoke  about  your  assistance  in 
persuading  him  to  take  the  house  ? ” 

He  laughed. 

“ You  are  either  the  cleverest  woman  in  the  world,”  he 
declared,  “ or  else  you  oughtn’t  to  be  out  without  a guar- 
dian. And  no  judge  in  possession  of  his  five  senses  would 
appoint  your  husband.” 

Indignant  as  she  was,  she  could  not  resist  smiling. 
There  was  something  in  the  way  Brent  made  such  remarks 
that  fascinated  her. 

“I  shouldn’t  call  you  precisely  eligible,  either,”  she 
retorted. 

He  laughed  again.  But  his  eyes  made  her  vaguely 
uneasy. 

“ Are  these  harsh  words  the  reward  for  my  charity  ? ” 
he  asked. 


ON  THE  ART  OF  LION  TAMING 


261 


“ I’m  by  no  means  sure  it’s  charity,”  she  said.  44  That’s 
what  is  troubling  me.  And  you  have  no  right  to  say  such 
things  about  — my  husband.” 

44  How  was  I to  know  you  were  sensitive  on  the  subject  ? ” 
he  replied. 

44  I wonder  what  it  would  be  like  to  be  so  utterly  cynical 
as  you,”  she  said. 

44  Do  you  mean  to  say  you  don’t  want  the  house  ? ” 

44  I don’t  want  it  under  those  conditions,”  she  answered 
with  spirit.  44  I didn’t  expect  to  be  taken  literally.  And 
you’ve  always  insisted,”  she  added,  44  in  ascribing  to  me 
motives  that  — that  never  occurred  to  me.  You  make  the 
mistake  of  thinking  that  because  you  have  no  ideals,  other 
people  haven’t.  I hope  Howard  hasn’t  said  he’d  take  the 
house.  He’s  gone  off  somewhere,  and  I haven’t  been  able 
to  see  him.” 

Trixton  Brent  looked  at  her  queerly. 

44  After  that  last  manoeuvre  of  yours,”  he  said,  44  it  was 
all  I could  do  to  prevent  him  from  rushing  over  to  Jerry 
Shorter’s  and  signing  the  lease.” 

She  did  not  reply. 

44  What  do  these  sudden,  virtuous  resolutions  mean  ? ” 
he  asked.  44  Resignation  ? Quicksands  for  life  ? Aban- 
donment of  the  whole  campaign  ? ” 

44  There  isn’t  any  4 campaign,  ’ ” she  said  — and  her 
voice  caught  in  something  like  a sob.  44  I’m  not  that  — 
sordid  kind  — of  a person.  And  if  I don’t  like  Quick- 
sands, it’s  because  the  whole  atmosphere  seems  to  be 
charged  with  — with  just  such  a spirit.” 

Her  hand  was  lying  on  the  seat.  He  covered  it  with 
his  own  so  quickly  that  she  left  it  there  for  a moment,  as 
though  paralyzed,  while  she  listened  to  the  first  serious 
words  he  had  ever  addressed  to  her. 

44  Honora,  I admire  you  more  than  any  woman  I have 
ever  known,”  he  said. 

Her  breath  came  quickly,  and  she  drew  her  hand  away. 

44 1 suppose  I ought  to  feel  complimented,”  she  replied. 

At  this  crucial  instant  what  had  been  a gliding  flight  of 
the  automobile  became,  suddenly,  a more  or  less  uneven 


262 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


and  jerky  progress,  accompanied  by  violent  explosions. 
At  the  first  of  these  Honora,  in  alarm,  leaped  to  her  feet. 
And  the  machine,  after  what  seemed  an  heroic  attempt  to 
continue,  came  to  a dead  stop.  They  were  on  the  out- 
skirts of  a village;  children  coming  home  from  school  sur- 
rounded them  in  a ring.  Brent  jumped  out,  the  chauffeur 
opened  the  hood,  and  they  peered  together  into  what  was, 
to  Honora,  an  inexplicable  tangle  of  machinery.  There 
followed  a colloquy,  in  technical  French,  between  the 
master  and  the  man. 

“ What’s  the  matter?”  asked  Honora,  anxiously. 
u Nothing  much,”  said  Brent,  “spark-plugs.  We’ll  fix 
it  up  in  a few  minutes.”  He  looked  with  some  annoyance 
at  the  gathering  crowd.  “ Stand  back  a little,  can’t 
you  ? ” he  cried,  “ and  give  us  room.” 

After  some  minutes  spent  in  wiping  greasy  pieces  of 
steel  which  the  chauffeur  extracted,  and  subsequent  cease- 
less grinding  on  the  crank,  the  engine  started  again,  not 
without  a series  of  protesting  cracks  like  pistol  shots. 
The  chauffeur  and  Brent  leaped  in,  the  bystanders  parted 
with  derisive  cheers,  and  away  they  went  through  the 
village,  only  to  announce  by  another  series  of  explosions  a 
second  disaster  at  the  other  end  of  the  street.  A crowd 
collected  there,  too. 

“ Oh,  dear!  ” said  Honora,  “ don’t  you  think  we  ought 
to  take  the  train,  Mr.  Brent?  If  I were  to  miss  a dinner 
at  my  own  house,  it  would  be  too  terrible!  ” 

“There’s  nothing  to  worry  about,”  he  assured  her. 
“ Nothing  broken.  It’s  only  the  igniting  system  that 
needs  adjustment.” 

Although  this  was  so  much  Greek  to  Honora,  she  was 
reassured.  Trixton  Brent  inspired  confidence.  There 
was  another  argument  with  the  chauffeur,  a little  more 
animated  than  the  first;  more  greasy  plugs  taken  out  and 
wiped,  and  a sharper  exchange  of  compliments  with  the 
crowd;  more  grinding,  until  the  chauffeur’s  face  was 
steeped  in  perspiration,  and  more  pistol  shots.  They  were 
off  again,  but  lamely,  spurting  a little  at  times,  and  again 
slowing  down  to  the  pace  of  an  ox-cart.  Their  progress 


ON  THE  ART  OF  LION  TAMING 


263 


became  a series  of  illustrations  of  the  fable  of  the  hare 
and  the  tortoise.  They  passed  horses,  and  the  horses 
shied  into  the  ditch:  then  the  same  horses  passed  them, 
usually  at  the  periods  chosen  by  the  demon  under  the 
hood  to  fire  its  pistol  shots,  and  into  the  ditch  went  the 
horses  once  more,  their  owners  expressing  their  thoughts 
in  language  at  once  vivid  and  unrestrained. 

It  is  one  of  the  blessed  compensations  of  life  that  in 
times  of  prosperity  we  do  not  remember  our  miseries.  In 
these  enlightened  days,  when  everybody  owns  an  auto- 
mobile and  calmly  travels  from  Chicago  to  Boston  if  he 
chooses,  we  have  forgotten  the  dark  ages  when  these 
machines  were  possessed  by  devils:  when  it  took  sometimes 
as  much  as  three  hours  to  go  twenty  miles,  and  often  longer 
than  that.  How  many  of  us  have  had  the  same  experi- 
ence as  Id  on  ora! 

She  was  always  going  to  take  the  train,  and  didn’t. 
Whenever  her  mind  was  irrevocably  made  up,  the  auto- 
mobile whirled  away  on  all  four  cylinders  for  a half  a mile 
or  so,  until  they  were  out  of  reach  of  the  railroad.  There 
were  trolley  cars,  to  be  sure,  but  those  took  forever  to  get 
anywhere.  Four  o’clock  struck,  five  and  six,  when  at 
last  the  fiend  who  had  conspired  with  fate,  having  accom- 
plished his  evident  purpose  of  compelling  Honora  to  miss 
her  dinner,  finally  abandoned  them  as  suddenly  and  mys- 
teriously as  he  had  come,  and  the  automobile  was  a lamb 
once  more.  It  was  half-past  six,  and  the  sun  had  set, 
before  they  saw  the  lights  twinkling  all  yellow  on  the 
heights  of  Fort  George.  At  that  hour  the  last  train  they 
could  have  taken  to  reach  the  dinner-party  in  time  was 
leaving  the  New  York  side  of  the  ferry. 

“ What  will  they  think? ’’cried  Honora.  “They  saw 
us  leave  Delmonico’s  at  two  o’clock,  and  they  didn’t  know 
we  were  going  to  Westchester.” 

It  needed  no  very  vivid  imagination  to  summon  up  the 
probable  remarks  of  Mrs.  Chandos  on  the  affair.  It  was 
all  very  well  to  say  the  motor  broke  down;  but  unfor- 
tunately Trixton  Brent’s  reputation  was  not  much  better 
than  that  of  his  car. 


264 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


Trixton  Brent,  as  might  have  been  expected,  was  in- 
clined to  treat  the  matter  as  a joke. 

44  There’s  nothing  very  formal  about  a Quicksands 
dinner-party,”  he  said.  44  We’ll  have  a cosey  little  dinner 
in  town,  and  call  ’em  up  on  the  telephone.” 

She  herself  was  surprised  at  the  spirit  of  recklessness 
stealing  over  her,  for  there  was,  after  all,  a certain  ap- 
pealing glamour  in  the  adventure.  She  was  thrilled  by 
the  swift,  gliding  motion  of  the  automobile,  the  weird  and 
unfamiliar  character  of  these  upper  reaches  of  a great  city 
in  the  twilight,  where  new  houses  stood  alone  or  in  rows 
on  wide  levelled  tracts;  and  old  houses,  once  in  the 
country,  were  seen  high  above  the  roadway  behind  crum- 
bling fences,  surrounded  by  gloomy  old  trees  with  rotting 
branches.  She  stole  a glance  at  the  man  close  beside  her; 
a delightful  fear  of  him  made  her  shiver,  and  she  shrank 
closer  into  the  corner  of  the  seat. 

44  Honora!  ” 

All  at  once  he  had  seized  her  hand  again,  and  held  it  in 
spite  of  her  efforts  to  release  it. 

44  Honora,”  he  said, 44 1 love  you  as  I have  never  loved  in 
my  life.  As  I never  shall  love  again.” 

44  Oh  — you  mustn’t  say  that!  ” she  cried. 

44  Why  not  ? ” he  demanded.  44  Why  not,  if  I feel  it  ? ” 

44  Because,”  faltered  Honora,  44  because  I can’t  listen 
to  you.” 

Brent  made  a motion  of  disdain  with  his  free  hand. 

44 1 don’t  pretend  that  it’s  right,”  he  said.  44  I’m  not  a 
hypocrite,  anyway,  thank  God  ! It’s  undoubtedly  wrong, 
according  to  all  moral  codes.  I’ve  never  paid  any  attention 
to  them.  You’re  married.  I’m  happy  to  say  I’m  divorced. 
You’ve  got  a husband.  I won’t  be  guilty  of  the  bad 
taste  of  discussing  him.  He’s  a good  fellow  enough,  but 
he  never  thinks  about  you  from  the  time  the  Exchange 
opens  in  the  morning  until  he  gets  home  at  night  and 
wants  his  dinner.  You  don’t  love  him — it  would  be  a 
miracle  if  a woman  with  any  spirit  did.  He  hasn’t  any 
more  of  an  idea  of  what  he  possesses  by  legal  right  than 
the  man  I discovered  driving  in  a cart  one  of  the  best 


ON  THE  ART  OF  LION  TAMING 


265 


hunters  I ever  had  in  my  stables.  To  say  that  he  doesn’t 
appreciate  you  is  a ludicrous  understatement.  Any 
woman  would  have  done  for  him.” 

44  Please  don’t  ! ” she  implored  him.  44  Please  don’t  ! ” 

But  for  the  moment  she  knew  that  she  was  powerless, 
carried  along  like  a chip  on  the  crest  of  his  passion. 

44  I don’t  pretend  to  say  how  it  is,  or  why  it  is,”  he  went 
on,  paying  no  heed  to  her  protests.  44  I suppose  there’s  one 
woman  for  every  man  in  the  world — Though  I didn’t  use 
to  think  so.  I always  had  another  idea  of  woman  before 
I met  you.  I’ve  thought  I was  in  love  with  ’em,  but 
now  I understand  it  was  only  — something  else.  I say,  I 
don’t  know  what  it  is  in  you  that  makes  me  feel  differ- 
ently. I can’t  analyze  it,  and  I don’t  want  to.  You’re 
not  perfect,  by  a good  deal,  and  God  knows  I’m  not. 
You’re  ambitious,  but  if  you  weren’t,  you’d  be  humdrum 
— yet  there’s  no  pitiful  artifice  in  you  as  in  other  women 
that  any  idiot  can  see  through.  And  it  would  have 
paralyzed  forever  any  ordinary  woman  to  have  married 
Howard  Spence.” 

A new  method  of  wooing,  surely,  and  evidently  peculiar 
to  Trixton  Brent.  Honora,  in  the  prey  of  emotions  which 
he  had  aroused  in  spite  of  her,  needless  to  say  did  not, 
at  that  moment,  perceive  the  humour  in  it.  His  words 
gave  her  food  for  thought  for  many  months  afterwards. 

The  lion  was  indeed  aroused  at  last,  and  whip  or  goad 
or  wile  of  no  avail.  There  came  a time  when  she  no 
longer  knew  what  he  was  saying  : when  speech,  though 
eloquent  and  forceful,  seemed  a useless  medium.  Her  ap- 
peals were  lost,  and  she  found  herself  fighting  in  his  arms, 
when  suddenly  they  turned  into  one  of  the  crowded  arteries 
of  Harlem.  She  made  a supreme  effort  of  will,  and  he  re- 
leased her. 

44  Oh!  ” she  cried,  trembling. 

But  he  looked  at  her,  unrepentant,  with  the  light  of 
triumph  in  his  eyes. 

44  I’ll  never  forgive  you  ! ” she  exclaimed,  breathless. 

44 1 gloried  in  it,”  he  replied.  44 1 shall  remember  it  as 
long  as  I live,  and  I’ll  do  it  again.” 


266 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


She  did  not  answer  him.  She  dropped  her  veil,  and 
for  a long  space  was  silent  while  they  rapidly  threaded  the 
traffic,  and  at  length  turned  into  upper  Fifth  Avenue,  skirt- 
ing the  Park.  She  did  not  so  much  as  glance  at  him.  But 
he  seemed  content  to  watch  her  veiled  profile  in  the  dusk. 

Her  breath,  in  the  first  tumult  of  her  thought,  came 
and  went  deeply.  But  gradually  as  the  street  lights 
burned  brighter  and  familiar  sights  began  to  appear,  she 
grew  more  controlled  and  became  capable  of  reflection. 
She  remembered  that  there  was  a train  for  Quicksands  at 
seven-fifteen,  which  Howard  had  taken  once  or  twice. 
But  she  felt  that  the  interval  was  too  short.  In  that  brief 
period  she  could  not  calm  herself  sufficiently  to  face  her 
guests.  Indeed,  the  notion  of  appearing  alone,  or  with 
Brent,  at  that  dinner-party,  appalled  her.  And  suddenly 
an  idea  presented  itself. 

Brent  leaned  over,  and  began  to  direct  the  chauffeur  to  a 
well-known  hotel.  She  interrupted  him. 

44  No,”  she  said,  44 I’d  rather  go  to  the  Holland  House.” 

44  Very  well,”  he  said  amicably,  not  a little  surprised  at 
this  unlooked-for  acquiescence,  and  then  told  his  man  to 
keep  straight  on  down  the  Avenue. 

She  began  mechanically  to  rearrange  her  hat  and  veil; 
and  after  that,  sitting  upright,  to  watch  the  cross  streets 
with  feverish  anticipation,  her  hands  in  her  lap. 

44  Honora  ? ” he  said. 

She  did  not  answer. 

44 Raise  the  veil,  just  for  a moment,  and  look  at  me.” 

She  shook  her  head.  But  for  some  reason,  best  known 
to  herself,  she  smiled  a little.  Perhaps  it  was  because  her 
indignation,  which  would  have  frightened  many  men  into 
repentance,  left  this  one  undismayed.  At  any  rate,  he 
caught  the  gleam  of  the  smile  through  the  film  of  her  veil, 
and  laughed. 

44  We’ll  have  a little  table  in  the  corner  of  the  room,” 
he  declared,  44  and  you  shall  order  the  dinner.  Here  we 
are,”  he  cried  to  the  chauffeur.  44  Pull  up  to  the  right.” 

They  alighted,  crossed  the  sidewalk,  the  doors  were 
flung  open  to  receive  them,  and  they  entered  the  hotel. 


ON  THE  ART  OF  LION  TAMING 


287 


Through  the  entrance  to  the  restaurant  Honora  caught 
sight  of  the  red  glow  of  candles  upon  the  white  tables,  and 
heard  the  hum  of  voices.  In  the  hall,  people  were  talking 
and  laughing  in  groups,  and  it  came  as  a distinct  surprise 
to  her  that  their  arrival  seemed  to  occasion  no  remark. 
At  the  moment  of  getting  out  of  the  automobile,  her  cour- 
age had  almost  failed  her. 

Trixton  Brent  hailed  one  of  the  hotel  servants. 

“ Show  Mrs.  Spence  to  the  ladies’  parlour,”  said  he. 
And  added  to  Honora,  “ I’ll  get  a table,  and  have  the 
dinner  card  brought  up  in  a few  moments.” 

Honora  stopped  the  boy  at  the  elevator  door. 

“ Go  to  the  office,”  she  said,  “ and  find  out  if  Mrs. 
Joshua  Holt  is  in,  and  the  number  of  her  room.  And 
take  me  to  the  telephone  booths.  I’ll  wait  there.” 

She  asked  the  telephone  operator  to  call  up  Mr.  Spence’s 
house  at  Quicksands  — and  waited. 

“ I’m  sorry,  madam,”  he  said,  after  a little  while,  which 
seemed  like  half  an  hour  to  Honora,  “ but  they’ve  had  a 
fire  in  the  Kingston  exchange,  and  the  Quicksands  line  is 
out  of  order.” 

Honora’s  heart  sank;  but  the  bell-boy  had  reappeared. 
Yes,  Mrs.  Holt  was  in. 

“Take  me  to  her  room,”  she  said,  and  followed  him 
into  the  elevator. 

In  response  to  his  knock  the  door  was  opened  by  Mrs. 
Holt  herself.  She  wore  a dove-coloured  gown,  and  in  her 
hand  was  a copy  of  the  report  of  the  Board  of  Missions. 
For  a moment  she  peered  at  Honora  over  the  glasses  lightly 
poised  on  the  uncertain  rim  of  her  nose. 

“Why  — my  dear!”  she  exclaimed,  in  astonishment. 
“ Honora  ! ” 

“ Oh,”  cried  Honora,  “ I’m  so  glad  you’re  here.  I was 
so  afraid  you’d  be  out.” 

In  the  embrace  that  followed  both  the  glasses  and  the 
mission  report  fell  to  the  floor.  Honora  picked  them  up. 

“ Sit  down,  my  dear,  and  tell  me  how  you  happen  to  be 
here,”  said  Mrs.  Holt.  “I  suppose  Howard  is  down- 
stairs.” 


268 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


“No,  he  isn’t,”  said  Honora,  rather  breathlessly;  “that’s 
the  reason  I came  here.  That’s  one  reason,  I mean.  I was 
coming  to  see  yon  this  morning,  but  I simply  didn’t  have 
time  for  a call  after  I got  to  town.” 

Mrs.  Holt  settled  herself  in  the  middle  of  the  sofa, 
the  only  piece  of  furniture  in  the  room  in  harmony  with 
her  ample  proportions.  Her  attitude  and  posture  were 
both  judicial,  and  justice  itself  spoke  in  her  delft-blue 
eyes. 

“Tell  me  all  about  it,”  she  said,  thus  revealing  her  sus- 
picions that  there  was  something  to  tell. 

“ I was  just  going  to,”  said  Honora,  hastily,  thinking 
of  Trixton  Brent  waiting  in  the  ladies’  parlour.  “ I took 
lunch  at  Delmonico’s  with  Mr.  Grainger,  and  Mr.  Brent, 
and  Mrs.  Kame  — ” 

“ Cecil  Grainger  ? ” demanded  Mrs.  Holt. 

Honora  trembled. 

“ Yes,”  she  said. 

“ I knew  his  father  and  mother  intimately,”  said  Mrs. 
Holt,  unexpectedly.  “ And  his  wife  is  a friend  of  mine. 
She’s  one  of  the  most  executive  women  we  have  in  the 
‘Working  Girls’  Association,’  and  she  read  a paper  to- 
day that  was  masterful.  You  know  her,  of  course.” 

“ No,”  said  Honora,  “ I haven’t  met  her  yet.” 

“ Then  how  did  you  happen  to  be  lunching  with  her 
husband  ? ” 

“I  wasn’t  lunching  with  him,  Mrs.  Holt,”  said  Honora; 
“Mr.  Brent  was  giving  the  lunch.” 

“ Who’s  Mr.  Brent  ? ” demanded  Mrs.  Holt.  “ One  of 
those  Quicksands  people  ? ” 

“ He’s  not  exactly  a Quicksands  person.  I scarcely 
know  how  to  describe  him.  He’s  very  rich,  and  goes 
abroad  a great  deal,  and  plays  polo.  That’s  the  reason 
he  has  a little  place  at  Quicksands.  He’s  been  awfully 
kind  both  to  Howard  and  me,”  she  added  with  inspiration. 

“ And  Mrs.  Kame  ? ” said  Mrs.  Holt. 

“She’s  a widow,  and  has  a place  at  Banbury.” 

“ I never  heard  of  her,”  said  Mrs.  Holt,  and  Honora 
thanked  her  stars.  “ And  Howard  approves  of  these  — 


ON  THE  ART  OF  LION  TAMING 


269 


mixed  lunches,  my  dear  ? When  I was  young,  husbands 
and  wives  usually  went  to  parties  together.” 

A panicky  thought  came  to  Honora,  that  Mrs.  Holt 
might  suddenly  inquire  as  to  the  whereabouts  of  Mr. 
Brent’s  wife. 

“ Oh,  Howard  doesn’t  mind,”  she  said  hastily.  “ I sup- 
pose times  have  changed,  Mrs.  Holt.  And  after  lunch 
we  all  went  out  in  Mr.  Brent’s  automobile  to  the  Faunces’ 
in  Westchester  — ” 

“The  Paul  Jones  Faunces?”  Mrs.  Holt  interrupted. 
“ What  a nice  woman  that  young  Mrs.  Faunce  is  ! She 
was  Kitty  Esterbrook,  you  know.  Both  of  them  very  old 
families.” 

“ It  was  only,”  continued  Honora,  in  desperation,  “ it 
was  only  to  leave  Mr.  Grainger  and  Mrs.  Kame  there  to 
spend  the  night.  They  all  said  we  had  plenty  of  time 
to  go  and  get  back  to  Quicksands  by  six  o’clock.  But 
coming  back  the  automobile  broke  down  — ” 

“ Of  course,”  said  Mrs.  Holt,  “ it  serves  any  one  right  for 
trusting  to  them.  I think  they  are  an  invention  of  the 
devil.” 

“And  we’ve  only  just  got  back  to  New  York  this 
minute.” 

“ Who  ? ” inquired  Mrs.  Holt. 

“ Mr.  Brent  and  I,”  said  Honora,  with  downcast  eyes. 

“ Good  gracious  ! ” exclaimed  the  elder  lady. 

“ I couldn’t  think  of  anything  else  to  do  but  come 
straight  here  to  you,”  said  Honora,  gazing  at  her  friend. 
“And  oh,  I’m  so  glad  to  find  you.  There’s  not  another 
train  to  Quicksands  till  after  nine.” 

“You  did  quite  right,  my  dear,  under  the  circumstances. 
I don’t  say  you  haven’t  been  foolish,  but  it’s  Howard’s 
fault  quite  as  much  as  yours.  He  has  no  business  to  let 
you  do  such  things.” 

“ And  what  makes  it  worse,”  said  Honora,  “ is  that  the 
wires  are  down  to  Quicksands,  and  I can’t  telephone 
Howard,  and  we  have  people  to  dinner,  and  they  don’t 
know  I went  to  Westchester,  and  there’s  no  use  telegraph- 
ing : it  wouldn’t  be  delivered  till  midnight  or  morning.” 


270 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


44  There,  there,  my  dear,  don’t  worry.  I know  how 
anxious  you  feel  on  your  husband’s  account  — ” 

44  Oh  — Mrs.  Holt,  I was  going  to  ask  you  a great,  great 
favour.  Wouldn’t  you  go  down  to  Quicksands  with  me 
and  spend  the  night  — and  pay  us  a little  visit?  You 
know  we  would  so  love  to  have  you  ! ” 

44  Of  course  I’ll  go  down  with  you,  my  dear,”  said  Mrs. 
Holt.  44  I’m  surprised  that  you  should  think  for  an  in- 
stant that  I wouldn’t.  It’s  my  obvious  duty.  Martha  ! ” 
she  called,  44  Martha  ! ” 

The  door  of  the  bedroom  opened,  and  Mrs.  Holt’s 
elderly  maid  appeared.  The  same  maid,  by  the  way,  who 
had  closed  the  shutters  that  memorable  stormy  night  at 
Silver  dale.  She  had,  it  seemed,  a trick  of  appearing  at 
crises. 

44Martha,  telephone  to  Mrs.  Edgerly  — you  know  her 
number — and  say  that  I am  very  sorry,  but  an  unexpected 
duty  calls  me  out  of  town  to-night,  and  ask  her  to  com- 
municate with  the  Reverend  Mr.  Field.  As  for  staying 
with  you,  Honora,”  she  continued, 44 1 have  to  be  back  at 
Silverdale  to-morrow  night.  Perhaps  you  and  Howard 
will  come  back  with  me.  My  frank  opinion  is,  that  a rest 
from  the  gayety  of  Quicksands  will  do  you  good.” 

44 1 will  come,  with  pleasure,”  said  Honora.  44  But  as 
for  Howard  — I’m  afraid  he’s  too  busy.” 

44  And  how  about  dinner?”  asked  Mrs.  Holt. 

44 1 forgot  to  say,”  said  Honora,  44  that  Mr.  Brent’s 
downstairs.  He  brought  me  here,  of  course.  Have  you 
any  objection  to  his  dining  with  us  ? ” 

44  No,”  answered  Mrs.  Holt,  44 1 think  I should  like  to 
see  him.” 

After  Mrs.  Holt  had  given  instructions  to  her  maid  to 
pack,  and  Honora  had  brushed  some  of  the  dust  of  the 
roads  from  her  costume,  they  descended  to  the  ladies’ 
parlour.  At  the  far  end  of  it  a waiter  holding  a card  was 
standing  respectfully,  and  Trixton  Brent  was  pacing  up 
and  down  between  the  windows.  When  he  caught  sight 
of  them  he  stopped  in  his  tracks,  and  stared,  and  stood  as 
if  rooted  to  the  carpet.  Honora  came  forward. 


ON  THE  ART  OF  LION  TAMING 


271 


“ Oh,  Mr.  Brent  ! ” she  cried,  “ my  old  friend,  Mrs.  Holt, 
is  here,  and  she’s  going  to  take  dinner  with  ns  and  come 
down  to  Quicksands  for  the  night.  May  I introduce  Mr. 
Brent.” 

“ Wasn’t  it  fortunate,  Mr.  Brent,  that  Mrs.  Spence 
happened  to  find  me  ? ” said  Mrs.  Holt,  as  she  took  his 
hand.  “ I know  it  is  a relief  to  you.” 

It  was  not  often,  indeed,  that  Trixton  Brent  was  taken 
off  his  guard;  but  some  allowance  must  be  made  for  him, 
since  he  was  facing  a situation  unparalleled  in  his  previous 
experience.  Virtue  had  not  often  been  so  triumphant,  and 
never  so  dramatic  as  to  produce  at  the  critical  instant  so 
emblematic  a defender  as  this  matronly  lady  in  dove  colour. 
For  a moment  he  stared  at  her,  speechless,  and  then  he 
gathered  himself  together. 

“ A relief  ? ” he  asked. 

“ It  would  seem  so  to  me,”  said  Mrs.  Holt.  “ Not  that 
I do  not  think  you  are  perfectly  capable  of  taking  care  of 
her,  as  an  intimate  friend  of  her  husband.  I was  merely 
thinking  of  the  proprieties.  And  as  I am  a guest  in  this 
hotel,  I expect  you  both  to  do  me  the  honour  to  dine  with 
me  before  we  start  for  Quicksands.” 

After  all,  Trixton  Brent  had  a sense  of  humour, 
although  it  must  not  be  expected  that  he  should  grasp  at 
once  all  the  elements  of  a joke  on  himself  so  colossal. 

“ I,  for  one,”  he  said,  with  a slight  bow  which  gave  to 
his  words  a touch  somewhat  elaborate,  “ will  be  delighted.” 
And  he  shot  at  Honora  a glance  compounded  of  many 
feelings,  which  she  returned  smilingly. 

“ Is  that  the  waiter  ? ” asked  Mrs.  Holt. 

“ That  is  a waiter,”  said  Trixton  Brent,  glancing  at  the 
motionless  figure.  “ Shall  I call  him  ? ” 

“ If  you  please,”  said  Mrs.  Holt.  “Honora,  you  must 
tell  me  what  you  like.” 

“ Anything,  Mrs.  Holt,”  said  Honora. 

“ If  we  are  to  leave  a little  after  nine,”  said  that  lady, 
balancing  her  glasses  on  her  nose  and  glancing  at  the  card, 
“ we  have  not,  I’m  afraid,  time  for  many  courses.” 

The  head  waiter  greeted  them  at  the  door  of  the  dining- 


272 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


room.  He,  too,  was  a man  of  wisdom  and  experience. 
He  knew  Mrs.  Holt,  and  he  knew  Trixton  Brent.  If 
gravity  had  not  been  a life-long  habit  with  him,  one 
might  have  suspected  him  of  a desire  to  laugh.  As  it 
was,  he  seemed  palpably  embarrassed,  — for  Mr.  Brent 
had  evidently  been  conversing  with  him. 

“ Two,  sir  ? ” he  asked. 

“ Three,”  said  Mrs.  Holt,  with  dignity. 

The  head  waiter  planted  them  conspicuously  in  the 
centre  of  the  room  ; one  of  the  strangest  parties,  from  the 
point  of  view  of  a connoisseur  of  New  York,  that  ever 
sat  down  together.  Mrs.  Holt  with  her  curls,  and  her 
glasses  laid  flat  on  the  bosom  of  her  dove-coloured  dress; 
Honora  in  a costume  dedicated  to  the  very  latest  of  the 
sports,  and  Trixton  Brent  in  English  tweeds.  The  din- 
ing-room was  full.  But  here  and  there  amongst  the  diners, 
Honora  observed,  were  elderly  people  who  smiled  dis- 
creetly as  they  glanced  in  their  direction  — friends,  per- 
haps, of  Mrs.  Holt.  And  suddenly,  in  one  corner,  she  per- 
ceived a table  of  six  where  the  mirth  was  less  restrained. 

Fortunately  for  Mr.  Brent,  he  had  had  a cocktail,  or  per- 
haps two,  in  Honora’s  absence.  Sufficient  time  had  elapsed 
since  their  administration  for  their  proper  soothing  and 
exhilarating  effects.  At  the  sound  of  the  laughter  in  the 
corner  he  turned  his  head,  a signal  for  renewed  merriment 
from  that  quarter.  Whereupon  he  turned  back  again  and 
faced  his  hostess  once  more  with  a heroism  that  compelled 
Honora’s  admiration.  As  a sportsman,  he  had  no  inten- 
tion of  shirking  the  bitterness  of  defeat. 

“ Mrs.  Grainger  and  Mrs.  Shorter,”  he  remarked, 
“appear  to  be  enjoying  themselves.” 

Honora  felt  her  face  grow  hot  as  the  merriment  at  the 
corner  table  rose  to  a height  it  had  not  heretofore  attained. 
And  she  did  not  dare  to  look  again. 

Mrs.  Holt  was  blissfully  oblivious  to  her  surroundings. 
She  was,  as  usual,  extremely  composed,  and  improved  the 
interval,  while  drinking  her  soup,  with  a more  or  less  un- 
disguised observation  of  Mr.  Brent  ; evidently  regarding 
him  somewhat  in  the  manner  that  a suspicious  householder 


ON  THE  ART  OF  LION  TAMING 


273 


would  look  upon  a strange  gentleman  whom  he  accidentally 
found  in  his  front  hall.  Explanations  were  necessar}r. 
That  Mr.  Brent’s  appearance,  on  the  whole,  was  in  his 
favour  did  not  serve  to  mitigate  her  suspicions.  Good- 
looking  men  were  apt  to  be  unscrupulous. 

“ Are  you  interested  in  working  girls,  Mr.  Brent  ? ” she 
inquired  presently. 

Honora,  in  spite  of  her  discomfort,  had  an  insane  desire 
to  giggle.  She  did  not  dare  to  raise  her  eyes. 

“ I can’t  say  that  I’ve  had  much  experience  with  them, 
Mrs.  Holt,”  he  replied,  with  a gravity  little  short  of  sub- 
lime. 

“ Naturally  you  wouldn’t  have  had,”  said  Mrs.  Holt. 
“ What  I meant  was,  are  you  interested  in  the  problems 
they  have  to  face  ? ” 

“ Extremely,”  said  he,  so  unexpectedly  that  Honora 
choked.  “ I can’t  say  that  I’ve  given  as  many  hours  as  I 
should  have  liked  to  a study  of  the  subject,  but  I don’t 
know  of  any  class  that  has  a harder  time.  As  a rule, 
they’re  underpaid  and  overworked,  and  when  night  comes 
they  are  either  tired  to  death  or  bored  to  death,  and  the 
good-looking  ones  are  subject  to  temptations  which  some 
of  them  find  impossible  to  resist,  in  a natural  desire  for 
some  excitement  to  vary  the  routine  of  their  lives.” 

“ It  seems  to  me,”  said  Mrs.  Holt,  “ that  you  are  fairly 
conversant  with  the  subject.  I don’t  think  I ever  heard 
the  problem  stated  so  succinctly  and  so  well.  Perhaps,” 
she  added,  “it  might  interest  you  to  attend  one  of  our 
meetings  next  month.  Indeed,  you  might  be  willing  to 
say  a few  words.” 

“ I’m  afraid  you’ll  have  to  excuse  me,  Mrs.  Holt.  I’m 
a rather  busy  man,  and  nothing  of  a public  speaker,  and 
it  is  rarely  I get  off  in  the  daytime.” 

“How  about  automobiling?  ” asked  Mrs.  Holt,  with  a 
smile. 

“ Well,”  said  Trixton  Brent,  laughing  in  spite  of  him- 
self, “ like  the  working  girls,  I have  to  have  a little  excite- 
ment occasionally.  And  I find  it  easier  to  get  off  in  the 
summer  than  in  the  winter.” 


274 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


“ Men  cover  a multitude  of  sins  under  the  plea  of  busi- 
ness,” said  Mrs.  Holt,  shaking  her  head.  “ I can’t  say  I 
think  much  of  your  method  of  distraction.  Why  any  one 
desires  to  get  into  an  automobile,  I don’t  see.” 

“Have  you  ever  been  in  one?”  he  asked.  “Mine  is 
here,  and  I was  about  to  invite  you  to  go  down  to  the 
ferry  in  it.  I’ll  promise  to  go  slow.” 

“ Well,”  said  Mrs.  Holt,  “I  don’t  object  to  going  that 
distance,  if  you  keep  your  promise.  I’ll  admit  that  I’ve 
always  had  a curiosity.” 

“And  in  return,”  said  Brent,  gallantly,  “allow  me  to 
send  you  a cheque  for  your  working  girls.” 

“ You’re  very  good,”  said  Mrs.  Holt. 

“ Oh,”  he  protested,  “ I’m  not  in  the  habit  of  giving 
much  to  charities,  I’m  sorry  to  say.  I’d  like  to  know  how 
it  feels.” 

“ Then  I hope  the  sensation  will  induce  you  to  try  it 
again,”  said  Mrs.  Holt. 

“Nobody,  Mrs.  Holt,”  cried  Honora,  “could  be  kinder 
to  his  friends  than  Mr.  Brent ! ” 

“ W e were  speaking  of  disinterested  kindness,  my  dear,” 
was  Mrs.  Holt’s  reply. 

“ You’re  quite  right,  Mrs.  Holt,”  said  Trixton  Brent, 
beginning,  as  the  dinner  progressed,  to  take  in  the  lady 
opposite  a delight  that  surprised  him.  “I’m  willing  to 
confess  that  I’ve  led  an  extremely  selfish  existence.” 

“ The  confession  isn’t  necessary,”  she  replied.  “ It’s 
written  all  over  you.  You’re  the  type  of  successful  man 
who  gets  what  he  wants.  I don’t  mean  to  say  that  you 
are  incapable  of  kindly  instincts.”  And  her  eye  twinkled 
a little. 

“ I’m  very  grateful  for  that  concession,  at  any  rate,”  he 
declared. 

“ There  might  be  some  hope  for  you  if  you  fell  into  the 
hands  of  a good  woman,”  said  Mrs.  Holt.  “ I take  it  you 
are  a bachelor.  Mark  my  words,  the  longer  you  remain 
one,  the  more  steeped  in  selfishness  you  are  likely  to  be- 
come in  this  modern  and  complex  and  sense-satisfying  life 
which  so  many  people  lead.” 


ON  THE  ART  OF  LION  TAMING 


275 


Honora  trembled  for  what  he  might  say  to  this,  remem- 
bering his  bitter  references  of  that  afternoon  to  his  own 
matrimonial  experience.  Visions  of  a scene  arose  be- 
fore her  in  the  event  that  Mrs.  Holt  should  discover  his 
status.  But  evidently  Trixton  Brent  had  no  intention  of 
discussing  his  marriage. 

“ Judging  by  some  of  my  married  friends  and  acquaint- 
ances,” he  said,  “ I have  no  desire  to  try  matrimony  as  a 
remedy  for  unselfishness.” 

“ Then,”  replied  Mrs.  Holt,  “ all  I can  say  is,  I should 
make  new  friends  amongst  another  kind  of  people,  if  I were 
you.  You  are  quite  right,  and  if  I were  seeking  examples 
of  happy  marriages,  I should  not  begin  my  search  among 
the  so-called  fashionable  set  of  the  present  day.  They  are 
so  supremely  selfish  that  if  the  least  difference  an  taste  de- 
velops,' or  if  another  man  or  woman  chances  along  whom 
they  momentarily  fancy  more  than  their  own  husbands  or 
wives,  they  get  a divorce.  Their  idea  of  marriage  is  not 
a mutual  sacrifice  which  brings  happiness  through  trials 
borne  together  and  through  the  making  of  character.  No, 
they  have  a notion  that  man  and  wife  may  continue  to 
lead  their  individual  lives.  That  isn’t  marriage.  I’ve  lived 
with  Joshua  Holt  thirty-five  years  last  April,  and  I haven’t 
pleased  myself  in  all  that  time.” 

“ All  men,”  said  Trixton  Brent,  “ are  not  so  fortunate 
as  Mr.  Holt.” 

Honora  began  to  have  the  sensations  of  a witness  to  a 
debate  between  Mephistopheles  and  the  powers  of  heaven. 
Her  head  swam.  But  Mrs.  Holt,  who  had  unlooked-for 
flashes  of  humour,  laughed,  and  shook  her  curls  at  Brent. 

“ I should  like  to  lecture  you  some  time,”  she  said;  “I 
think  it  would  do  you  good.” 

He  shook  his  he^d. 

“ I’m  beyond  redemption.  Don’t  you  think  so,  Ho- 
nora ? ” he  asked,  with  an  unexpected  return  of  his  au- 
dacity. 

“ I’m  afraid  I’m  not  worthy  to  judge  you,”  she  replied, 
and  coloured. 

“ Stuff  and  nonsense  ! ” said  Mrs.  Holt;  “ 


women  are 


276 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


superior  to  men,  and  it’s  our  duty  to  keep  them  in  order. 
And  if  we’re  really  going  to  risk  our  lives  in  your  auto- 
mobile, Mr.  Brent,  you’d  better  make  sure  it’s  there,”  she 
added,  glancing  at  her  watch. 

Having  dined  together  in  an  apparent  and  inexplicable 
amity,  their  exit  was  of  even  more  interest  to  the  table  in 
the  corner  than  their  entrance  had  been.  Mrs.  Holt’s 
elderly  maid  was  waiting  in  the  hall,  Mrs.  Holt’s  little 
trunk  was  strapped  on  the  rear  of  the  car;  and  the  lady 
herself,  with  something  of  the  feelings  of  a missionary  em- 
barking for  the  wilds  of  Africa,  was  assisted  up  the  little 
step  and  through  the  narrow  entrance  of  the  tonneau  by 
the  combined  efforts  of  Honora  and  Brent.  An  expres- 
sion of  resolution,  emblematic  of  a determination  to  die, 
if  necessary,  in  the  performance  of  duty,  was  on  her  face 
as  the  machinery  started;  and  her  breath  was  not  quite 
normal  when,  in  an  incredibly  brief  period,  they  de- 
scended at  the  ferry. 

The  journey  to  Quicksands  was  accomplished  in  a 
good  fellowship  which  Honora,  an  hour  before,  would 
not  have  dreamed  of.  Even  Mrs.  Holt  was  not  wholly 
proof  against  the  charms  of  Trixton  Brent  when  he  chose 
to  exert  himself ; and  for  some  reason  he  did  so  choose. 
As  they  stood  in  the  starlight  on  the  platform  of  the  de- 
serted little  station  while  he  went  across  to  Whelen’s 
livery  stable  to  get  a carriage,  Mrs.  Holt  remarked  to 
Honora : — 

44  Mr.  Brent  is  a fascinating  man,  my  dear.” 

44 1 am  so  glad  that  you  appreciate  him,”  exclaimed 
Honora. 

44  And  a most  dangerous  one,”  continued  Mrs.  Holt.  44  He 
has  probably,  in  his  day,  disturbed  the  peace  of  mind  of  a 
great  many  young  women.  Not  that  I haven’t  the  high- 
est confidence  in  you,  Honora,  but  honesty  forces  me  to 
confess  that  you  are  young  and  pleasure-loving  and  a 
little  heedless.  And  the  atmosphere  in  which  you  live  is 
not  likely  to  correct  those  tendencies.  If  you  will  take 
my  advice,  you  will  not  see  too  much  of  Mr.  Trixton  Brent 
when  your  husband  is  not  present.” 


ON  THE  ART  OF  LION  TAMING 


277 


Indeed,  as  to  the  probable  effect  of  this  incident  on 
the  relations  between  Mr.  Brent  and  herself  Honora 
was  wholly  in  the  dark.  Although,  from  her  point  of 
view,  what  she  had  done  had  been  amply  justified  by  the 
plea  of  self-defence,  it  could  not  be  expected  that  he 
would  accept  it  in  the  same  spirit.  The  apparent  pleasure 
he  had  taken  in  the  present  situation,  once  his  amazement 
had  been  overcome,  profoundly  puzzled  her. 

He  returned  in  a few  minutes  with  the  carriage  and  driver, 
and  they  started  off.  Brent  sat  in  front,  and  Honora  ex- 
plained to  Mrs.  Holt  the  appearance  of  the  various  places 
by  daylight,  and  the  names  of  their  owners.  The  elderly 
lady  looked  with  considerable  interest  at  the  blazing  lights 
of  the  Club,  with  the  same  sensations  she  would  no  doubt 
have  had  if  she  had  been  suddenly  set  down  within  the 
Moulin  Rouge.  Shortly  afterwards  they  turned  in  at  the 
gate  of  “The  Brackens.”  The  light  streamed  across 
the  porch  and  driveway,  and  the  sound  of  music  floated 
out  of  the  open  windows.  Within,  the  figure  of  Mrs. 
Barclay  could  be  seen  ; she  was  singing  vaudeville  songs 
at  the  piano.  Mrs.  Holt’s  lips  were  tightly  shut  as  she 
descended  and  made  her  way  up  the  steps. 

“I  hope  you’ll  come  in,”  said  Honora  to  Trixton  Brent, 
in  a low  voice. 

“ Come  in  ! ” he  replied,  “ I wouldn’t  miss  it  for  ten 
thousand  dollars.” 

Mrs.  Holt  was  the  first  of  the  three  to  appear  at  the 
door  of  the  drawing-room,  and  Mrs.  Barclay  caught  sight  of 
her,  and  stopped  in  the  middle  of  a bar,  with  her  mouth 
open.  Some  of  the  guests  had  left.  A table  in  the 
corner,  where  Lula  Chandos  had  insisted  on  playing 
bridge,  was  covered  with  scattered  cards  and  some  bills, 
a decanter  of  whiskey,  two  soda  bottles,  and  two  glasses. 
The  blue  curling  smoke  from  Mrs.  Chandos’  cigarette 
mingled  with  the  haze  that  hung  between  the  ceiling  and 
the  floor,  and  that  lady  was  in  the  act  of  saying  cheerfully 
to  Howard,  who  sat  opposite, — 

“ Trixy’s  run  off  with  her.” 

Suddenly  the  chill  of  silence  pervaded  the  room.  Lula 


278 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


Chandos,  whose  back  was  turned  to  the  door,  looked  from 
Mrs.  Barclay  to  Howard,  who,  with  the  other  men,  had 
risen  to  his  feet. 

“ What’s  the  matter  ? ” she  said  in  a frightened  tone. 
And,  following  the  eyes  of  the  others,  turned  her  head 
slowly  towards  the  doorway. 

Mrs.  Holt,  who  filled  it,  had  been  literally  incapable  of 
speech.  Close  behind  her  stood  Honora  and  Trixton 
Brent,  whose  face  was  inscrutable. 


“ Howard,”  said  Honora,  summoning  all  the  courage 
that  remained  in  her,  “here’s  Mrs.  Holt.  We  dined  with 
her,  and  she  was  good  enough  to  come  down  for  the  night. 
I’m  so  sorry  not  to  have  been  here,”  she  added  to  her  guests, 
“but  we  went  to  Westchester  with  Mrs.  Kame  and  Mr. 
Grainger,  and  the  automobile  broke  down  on  the  way  back.” 
Mrs.  Holt  made  no  attempt  to  enter,  but  stared  fixedly 
at  the  cigarette  that  Mrs.  Chandos  still  held  in  her  trem- 
bling fingers.  Howard  crossed  the  room  in  the  midst  of 
an  intense  silence. 


ON  THE  ART  OF  LION  TAMING 


279 


“ Glad  to  see  you,  Mrs.  Holt,”  he  said.  “ Er  — won’t 
you  come  in  and  — and  sit  down  ? ” 

“ Thank  you,  Howard,”  she  replied,  “ I do  not  wish  to 
interrupt  your  — party.  It  is  my  usual  hour  for  retiring. 
And  I think,  my  dear,”  she  added,  turning  to  Honora,  “that 
I’ll  ask  you  to  excuse  me,  and  show  me  to  my  room.” 
“ Certainly,  Mrs.  Holt,”  said  Honora,  breathlessly. 
“Howard,  ring  the  bell.” 

She  led  the  way  up  the  stairs  to  the  guest-chamber  with 


the  rose  paper  and  the  little  balcony.  As  she  closed  the 
door  gusts  of  laughter  reached  them  from  the  floor  below, 
and  she  could  plainly  distinguish  the  voices  of  May  Barclay 
and  Trixton  Brent. 

“ I hope  you’ll  be  comfortable,  Mrs.  Holt,”  she  said. 
“Your  maid  will  be  in  the  little  room  across  the  hall  — 
and  I believe  you  like  breakfast  at  eight.” 

“ You  mustn’t  let  me  keep  you  from  your  guests, 
Honora.” 

“ Oh,  Mrs.  Holt,”  she  said,  on  the  verge  of  tears,  “ I 
don’t  want  to  go  to  them.  Really,  I don’t,” 


280 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


“It  must  be  confessed,”  said  Mrs.  Holt,  opening  her 
handbag  and  taking  out  the  copy  of  the  mission  report, 
which  had  been  carefully  folded,  “that  they  seem  to  be 
able  to  get  along  very  well  without  you.  I suppose  I am 
too  old  to  understand  this  modern  way  of  living.  How 
well  I remember  one  night  — it  was  in  1886 — I missed 
the  train  to  Silverdale,  and  my  telegram  miscarried. 
Poor  Mr.  Holt  was  nearly  out  of  his  head.” 

She  fumbled  for  her  glasses  and  dropped  them.  Honora 
picked  them  up,  and  it  was  then  she  perceived  that  the 
tears  were  raining  down  the  good  lady’s  cheeks.  At  the 
same  moment  they  sprang  into  Honora’s  eyes,  and  blinded 
her.  Mrs.  Holt  looked  at  her  long  and  earnestly. 

“ Go  down,  my  dear,”  she  said  gently,  “ you  must  not 
neglect  your  friends.  They  will  wonder  where  you  are. 
And  at  what  time  do  you  breakfast  ? ” 

“ At  — at  any  time  you  like.” 

“ I shall  be  down  at  eight,”  said  Mrs.  Holt,  and  she 
kissed  her. 

Honora,  closing  the  door,  stood  motionless  in  the  hall, 
and  presently  the  footsteps  and  the  laughter  and  the  sound 
of  carriage  wheels  on  the  gravel  died  away. 


CHAPTER  XI 


CONTAINING  SOME  REVELATIONS 

Honora,  as  she  descended,  caught  a glimpse  of  the 
parlour  maid  picking  up  the  scattered  cards  on  the  draw- 
ing-room floor.  There  were  voices  on  the  porch,  where 
Howard  was  saying  good-by  to  Mrs.  Chandos  and  Trixton 
Brent.  She  joined  them. 

“Oh,  my  dear!”  cried  Mrs.  Chandos,  interrupting 
Honora’s  apologies,  “I’m  sure  I shan’t  sleep  a wink  — she 
gave  me  such  a fright.  You  might  have  sent  Trixy 
ahead  to  prepare  us.  When  I first  caught  sight  of  her,  I 
thought  it  was  my  own  dear  mother  who  had  come  all  the 
way  from  Cleveland,  and  the  cigarette  burned  my  fingers. 
But  I must  say  I think  it  was  awfully  clever  of  you  to  get 
hold  of  her  and  save  Trixy’s  reputation.  Good  night, 
dear.” 

And  she  got  into  her  carriage. 

“ Give  my  love  to  Mrs.  Holt,”  said  Brent,  as  he  took 
Honora’s  hand,  “and  tell  her  I feel  hurt  that  she  neglected 
to  say  good  night  to  me.  I thought  I had  made  an  im- 
pression. Tell  her  I’ll  send  her  a cheque  for  her  rescue 
work.  She  inspires  me  with  confidence.” 

Howard  laughed. 

“ I’ll  see  you  to-morrow,  Brent,”  he  called  out  as  they 
drove  away.  Though  always  assertive,  it  seemed  to 
Honora  that  her  husband  had  an  increased  air  of  impor- 
tance as  he  turned  to  her  now  with  his  hands  in  his  pockets. 
He  looked  at  her  for  a moment,  and  laughed  again.  He, 
too,  had  apparently  seen  the  incident  only  in  a humorous 
light.  “Well,  Honora,”  he  remarked,  “you  have  a sort 
of  a P.  T.  Barnum  way  of  doing  things  once  in  a while  — 
haven’t  you  ? Is  the  old  lady  really  tucked  away  for  the 

281 


282 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


night,  or  is  she  coming  down  to  read  us  a sermon?  And 
how  the  deuce  did  you  happen  to  pick  her  up  ? ” 

She  had  come  downstairs  with  confession  on  her  lips, 
and  in  the  agitation  of  her  mind  had  scarcely  heeded 
Brent’s  words  or  Mrs.  Chandos’.  She  had  come  down 
prepared  for  any  attitude  but  the  one  in  which  she  found 
him;  for  anger,  reproaches,  arraignments.  Nay,  she  was 
surprised  to  find  now  that  she  had  actually  hoped  for 
these.  She  deserved  to  be  scolded:  it  was  her  right.  If 
he  had  been  all  of  a man,  he  would  have  called  her  to  ac- 
count. There  must  be  — there  was  something  lacking  in 
his  character.  And  it  came  to  her  suddenly,  with  all  the 
shock  of  a great  contrast,  with  what  different  eyes  she  had 
looked  upon  him  five  years  before  at  Silverdale. 

He  went  into  the  house  and  started  to  enter  the  drawing- 
room, still  in  disorder  and  reeking  with  smoke. 

44  No,  not  in  there!  ” she  cried  sharply. 

He  turned  to  her  puzzled.  Her  breath  was  coming  and 
going  quickly.  She  crossed  the  hall  and  turned  on  the 
light  in  the  little  parlour  there,  and  he  followed  her. 

44  Don’t  you  feel  well  ? ” he  asked. 

44  Howard,”  she  said,  44  weren’t  you  worried  ? ” 

44  Worried  ? No,  why  should  I have  been  ? Lula  Chan- 
dos and  May  Barclay  had  seen  you  in  the  automobile  in 
town,  and  I knew  you  were  high  and  dry  somewhere.” 

44  High  and  dry,”  she  repeated. 

44  What  ? ” 

44  Nothing.  They  said  I had  run  off  with  Mr.  Brent, 
didn’t  they  ? ” 

He  laughed. 

44  Yes,  there  was  some  joking  to  that  effect.” 

44  You  didn’t  take  it  seriously  ? ” 

44  No  — why  should  I ? ” 

She  was  appalled  by  his  lack  of  knowledge  of  her.  All 
these  years  she  had  lived  with  him,  and  he  had  not  grasped 
even  the  elements  of  her  nature.  And  this  was  marriage  ! 
Trixton  Brent  — short  as  their  acquaintance  had  been  — 
had  some  conception  of  her  character  and  possibilities  — 
her  husband  none.  Where  was  she  to  begin  ? How  was 


CONTAINING  SOME  REVELATIONS 


283 


she  to  tell  him  of  the  episode  in  the  automobile  in  order 
that  he  might  perceive  something  of  its  sinister  significance  ? 
Where  was  she  to  go  to  be  saved  from  herself,  if  not  to 
him  ? 

“ I might  have  run  away  with  him,  if  I had  loved  him,” 
she  said  after  a pause.  “ Would  you  have  cared  ? ” 

“ You  bet  your  life,”  said  Howard,  and  put  his  arm 
around  her. 

She  looked  up  into  his  face.  So  intent  had  she  been  on 
what  she  had  meant  to  tell  him  that  she  did  not  until  now 
perceive  he  was  preoccupied,  and  only  half  listening  to 
what  she  was  saying. 

“You  bet  your  life,”  he  said,  patting  her  shoulder. 
“ What  would  I have  done,  all  alone,  in  the  new  house  ? ” 

“ In  the  new  house?”  she  cried.  “ Oh,  Howard  — you 
— you  haven’t  taken  it ! ” 

“I  haven’t  signed  the  lease,”  he  replied  importantly, 
smiling  down  at  her,  and  thrusting  his  hands  in  his 
pockets. 

“ I don’t  want  it,”  said  Honora ; “ I don’t  want  it.  I 
told  you  that  I’d  decided  I didn’t  want  it  when  we  were 
there.  Oh,  Howard,  why  did  you  take  it  ? ” 

He  whistled.  He  had  the  maddening  air  of  one 
who  derives  amusement  from  the  tantrums  of  a spoiled 
child. 

“Well,”  he  remarked,  “women  are  too  many  for  me. 
If  there’s  any  way  of  pleasing  ’em  I haven’t  yet  discovered 
it.  The  night  before  last  you  had  to  have  the  house. 
Nothing  else  would  do.  It  was  the  greatest  find  in  New 
York.  For  the  first  time  in  months  you  get  up  for  break- 
fast — a pretty  sure  sign  you  hadn’t  changed  your  mind. 
You  drag  me  to  see  it,  and  when  you  land  me  there,  be- 
cause I don’t  lose  my  head  immediately,  you  say  you  don’t 
want  it.  Of  course  I didn’t  take  you  seriously  — 1 thought 
you’d  set  your  heart  on  it,  so  I wired  an  offer  to  Shorter 
to-day,  and  he  accepted  it.  And  when  I hand  you  this 
pleasant  little  surprise,  you  go  right  up  in  the  air.” 

He  had  no  air  of  vexation,  however,  as  he  delivered  this 
somewhat  reproachful  harangue  in  the  picturesque  language 


284 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


to  which  he  commonly  resorted.  Quite  the  contrary.  He 
was  still  smiling,  as  Santa  Clans  must  smile  when  he 
knows  he  has  another  pack  up  the  chimney. 

“ Why  this  sudden  change  of  mind  ? ” he  demanded. 
“ It  can’t  be  because  you  want  to  spend  the  winter  in  Quick- 
sands.” 

She  was  indeed  at  a loss  what  to  say.  She  could  not 
bring  herself  to  ask  him  whether  he  had  been  influenced  by 
Trixton  Brent.  If  he  had,  she  told  herself,  she  did  not  wish 
to  know.  He  was  her  husband,  after  all,  and  it  would  be 
too  humiliating.  And  then  he  had  taken  the  house. 

“ Have  you  hit  on  a palace  you  like  better  ? ” he  inquired, 
with  a clumsy  attempt  at  banter.  “ They  tell  me  the  elder 
Maitlands  are  going  abroad — perhaps  we  could  get  their 
house  on  the  Park.” 

“ You  said  you  couldn’t  afford  Mrs.  Rindge’s  house,” 
she  answered  uneasily,  “and  I — I believed  you.” 

“ I couldn’t,”  he  said  mysteriously,  and  paused. 

It  seemed  to  her,  as  she  recalled  the  scene  afterwards, 
that  in  this  pause  he  gave  the  impression  of  physically 
swelling.  She  remembered  staring  at  him  with  wide, 
frightened  eyes  and  parted  lips. 

“ I couldn’t,”  he  repeated,  with  the  same  strange  empha- 
sis and  a palpable  attempt  at  complacency.  “ But  — er  — 
circumstances  have  changed  since  then.” 

“ What  do  you  mean,  Howard  ? ” she  whispered. 

The  corners  of  his  mouth  twitched  in  the  attempt  to  re- 
press a smile. 

“I  mean,”  he  said,  “that  the  president  of  a trust  com- 
pany can  afford  to  live  in  a better  house  than  the  junior 
partner  of  Dallam  and  Spence.” 

“ The  president  of  a trust  company  ! ” Honora  scarcely 
recognized  her  own  voice  — so  distant  it  sounded.  The 
room  rocked,  and  she  clutched  the  arm  of  a chair  and  sat 
down.  He  came  and  stood  over  her. 

“ I thought  that  would  surprise  you  some,”  he  said, 
obviously  pleased  by  these  symptoms.  “ The  fact  is,  I 
hadn’t  meant  to  break  it  to  you  until  morning.  But  I 
think  I’ll  go  in  on  the  seven  thirty-five.”  (He  glanced 


CONTAINING  SOME  REVELATIONS 


285 


significantly  up  at  the  ceiling,  as  though  Mrs.  Holt  had 
something  to  do  with  this  decision.)  44  President  of  the 
Orange  Trust  Company  at  forty  isn’t  so  bad,  eh  ? ” 

44  The  Orange  Trust  Company  ? Did  you  say  the 
Orange  Trust  Company  ? ” 

44  Yes.”  He  produced  a cigarette.  44  Old  James  Wing 
and  Brent  practically  control  it.  You  see,  if  I do  say  it 
myself,  I handled  some  things  pretty  well  for  Brent  this 
summer,  and  he’s  seemed  to  appreciate  it.  He  and  Wing 
were  buying  in  traction  stocks  out  West.  But  you 
could  have  knocked  me  down  with  a paper-knife  when  he 
came  to  me  — ” 

44  When  did  he  come  to  you  ? ” she  asked  breathlessly. 

44  Yesterday.  We  went  down  town  together,  you  re- 
member, and  he  asked  me  to  step  into  his  office.  Well, 
we  talked  it  over,  and  I left  on  the  one  o’clock  for  New- 
port to  see  Mr.  Wing.  Wonderful  old  man  ! I sat  up 
with  him  till  midnight  — - it  wasn’t  any  picnic  ”... 

More  than  once  during  the  night  Honora  awoke  with  a 
sense  of  oppression,  and  each  time  went  painfully  through 
the  whole  episode  from  the  evening  — some  weeks  past  — 
when  Trixton  Brent  had  first  mentioned  the  subject  of 
the  trust  company,  to  the  occurrence  in  the  automobile  and 
Howard’s  triumphant  announcement.  She  had  but  a vague 
notion  of  how  that  scene  had  finished;  or  of  how,  limply, 
she  had  got  to  bed.  Round  and  round  the  circle  she  went 
in  each  waking  period.  To  have  implored  him  to  relinquish 
the  place  had  been  waste  of  breath;  and  then — -her  reasons? 
These  were  the  moments  when  the  current  was  strongest, 
when  she  grew  incandescent  with  humiliation  and  pain  ; 
when  stray  phrases  in  red  letters  of  Brent’s  were  illumi- 
nated. Merit  ! He  had  a contempt  for  her  husband 
which  he  had  not  taken  the  trouble  to  hide.  But  not  a 
business  contempt.  44 As  good  as  the  next  man,”  Brent 
had  said  — or  words  to  that  effect.  44  As  good  as  the  next 
man  /”  Then  she  had  tacitly  agreed  to  the  bargain,  and 
refused  to  honour  the  bill!  No,  she  had  not,  she  had  not. 
Before  God,  she  was  innocent  of  that!  When  she  reached 
this  point  it  was  always  to  James  Wing  that  she  clung — - 


286 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


the  financier,  at  least,  had  been  impartial.  And  it  was  ke 
who  saved  her. 

At  length  she  opened  her  eyes  to  discover  with  bewilder- 
ment that  the  room  was  flooded  with  light,  and  then  she 
sprang  out  of  bed  and  went  to  the  open  window.  To  sea- 
ward hung  an  opal  mist,  struck  here  and  there  with  crim- 
son. She  listened  ; some  one  was  whistling  an  air  she  had 
heard  before  — Mrs.  Barclay  had  been  singing  it  last 
night!  Wheels  crunched  the  gravel  — Howard  was  going 
off.  She  stood  motionless  until  the  horse’s  hoofs  rang 
on  the  highroad,  and  then  hurried  into  her  dressing-gown 
and  slippers  and  went  downstairs  to  the  telephone  and 
called  a number. 

“ Is  this  Mr.  Brent’s  ? Will  you  say  to  Mr.  Brent 
that  Mrs.  Spence  would  be  greatly  obliged  if  he  stopped 
a moment  at  her  house  before  going  to  town?  Thank 
you.” 

She  returned  to  her  room  and  dressed  with  feverish 
haste,  trying  to  gather  her  wits  for  an  ordeal  which  she 
felt  it  would  have  killed  her  to  delay.  At  ten  minutes 
to  eight  she  emerged  again  and  glanced  anxiously  at  Mrs. 
Holt’s  door  ; and  scarcely  had  she  reached  the  lower  hall 
before  he  drove  into  the  circle.  Sh£  was  struck  more 
forcibly  than  ever  by  the  physical  freshness  of  the  man, 
and  he  bestowed  on  her,  as  he  took  her  hand,  the  peculiar 
smile  she  knew  scrwell,  that  always  seemed  to  have  an 
enigma  behind  it.  At  sight  and  touch  of  him  the  memory 
of  what  she  had  prepared  to  say  vanished. 

“ Behold  me,  as  ever,  your  obedient  servant,”  he  said,  as 
he  followed  her  into  the  screened-off  portion  of  the  porch. 

“ You  must  think  it  strange  that  I sent  for  you,  I know,” 
she  cried,  as  she  turned  to  him.  “ But  I couldn’t  wait. 
I — I did  not  know  until  last  night.  Howard  only  told 
me  then.  Oh,  you  didn’t  do  it  for  me  ! Please  say  you 
didn’t  do  it  for  me  ! ” 

“My  dear  Honora,”  replied  Trixton  Brent,  gravely, 
“ we  wanted  your  husband  for  his  abilities  and  the  valu- 
able services  he  can  render  us.” 

She  stood  looking  into  his  eyes,  striving  to  penetrate  to 


CONTAINING  SOME  REVELATIONS 


287 


the  soul  behind,  ignorant  or  heedless  that  others  before 
her  had  tried  and  failed.  He  met  her  gaze  unflinchingly, 
and  smiled. 

u I want  the  truth,”  she  craved. 

“ I never  lie  — to  a woman,”  he  said. 

“My  life  — my  future  depends  upon  it,”  she  went  on. 
“I’d  rather  scrub  floors,  I’d  rather  beg  — than  to  have  it 
so.  You  must  believe  me!  ” 

“ I do  believe  you,”  he  affirmed.  And  he  said  it  with  a 
gentleness  and  a sincerity  that  startled  her. 

“ Thank  you,”  she  answered  simply.  And  speech  be- 
came very  difficult.  “ If  — if  I haven’t  been  quite  fair 
with  you  — Mr.  Brent,  I am  sorry.  I — I liked  you,  and 
I like  you  to-day  better  than  ever  before.  And  I can 
quite  see  now  how  I must  have  misled  you  into  thinking 
— queer  things  about  me.  I didn’t  mean  to.  I have 
learned  a lesson.” 

She  took  a deep,  involuntary  breath.  The  touch  of 
lightness  in  his  reply  served  to  emphasize  the  hitherto  un- 
suspected fact  that  sportsmanship  in  Trixton  Brent  was 
not  merely  a code,  but  assumed  something  of  the  grandeur 
of  a principle. 

“I,  too,  have  learned  a lesson,”  he  replied.  “I  have 
learned  the  difference  between  nature  and  art.  I am  — 
something  of  a connoisseur  in  art.  I bow  to  nature,  and 
pay  my  bets.” 

“ Your  bets?  ” she  asked,  with  a look. 

“My  renunciations,  forfeits,  whatever  you  choose  to 
call  them.  I have  been  fairly  and  squarely  beaten — but 
by  nature,  not  by  art.  That  is  my  consolation.” 

Laughter  struck  into  her  eyes  like  a shaft  of  sunlight 
into  a well;  her  emotions  were  no  longer  to  be  distin- 
guished. And  in  that  moment  she  wondered  what  would 
have  happened  if  she  had  loved  this  man,  and  why  she 
had  not.  And  when  next  he  spoke,  she  started. 

“ How  is  my  elderly  dove-coloured  friend  this  morn- 
ing ? ” he  asked.  “ That  dinner  with  her  was  one  of  the 
great  events  of  my  life.  I didn’t  suppose  such  people  ex- 
isted any  more.” 


288 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


“ Perhaps  you’ll  stay  to  breakfast  with  her,”  suggested 
Honora,  smiling.  “ I know  she’d  like  to  see  you  again.” 

“ No,  thanks,”  he  said,  taking  her  hand,  “ I’m  on  my 
way  to  the  train  — I’d  quite  forgotten  it.  Au  revoir  ! ” 
He  reached  the  end  of  the  porch,  turned,  and  called  back, 
“ As  a dea  ex  machina , she  has  never  been  equalled.” 

Honora  stood  for  a while  looking  after  him,  until  she 
heard  a footstep  behind  her,  — Mrs.  Holt’s. 

“ Who  was  that,  my  dear  ? ” she  asked,  “ Howard  ? ” 

“ Howard  has  gone,  Mrs.  Holt,”  Honora  replied,  rous- 
ing herself.  “ I must  make  his  apologies.  It  was  Mr. 
Brent.” 

“Mr.  Brent  ! ” the  good  lady  repeated,  with  a slight  up- 
ward lift  of  the  faint  eyebrows.  “ Does  he  often  call  this 
early  ? ” 

Honora  coloured  a little,  and  laughed. 

“ I asked  him  to  breakfast  with  you,  but  he  had  to 
catch  a train.  He  — wished  to  be  remembered.  He  took 
such  a fancy  to  you.” 

“I  am  afraid,”  said  Mrs.  Holt,  “that  his  fancy  is  a 
thing  to  be  avoided.  Are  you  coming  to  Silverdale  with 
me,  Honora?” 

“ Yes,  Mrs.  Holt,”  she  replied,  slipping  her  arm  through 
that  of  her  friend,  “for  as  long  as  you  will  let  me  stay.” 

And  she  left  a note  for  Howard  to  that  effect. 


BOOK  III 


CHAPTER  I 

ASCENDI 

Honora  did  not  go  back  to  Quicksands.  Neither,  in 
this  modern  chronicle,  shall  we. 

The  sphere  we  have  left,  which  we  know  is  sordid, 
sometimes  shines  in  the  retrospect.  And  there  came  a 
time,  after  the  excitement  of  furnishing  the  new  house 
was  over,  when  our  heroine,  as  it  were,  swung  for  a time 
in  space:  not  for  a very  long  time;  that  month,  perhaps, 
between  autumn  and  winter. 

We  need  not  be  worried  about  her,  though  we  may 
pause  for  a moment  or  two  to  sympathize  with  her  in  her 
loneliness  — or  rather  in  the  moods  it  produced.  She 
even  felt,  in  those  days,  slightly  akin  to  the  Lady  of  the 
Victoria  (perfectly  respectable),  whom  all  of  us  fortunate 
enough  occasionally  to  go  to  New  York  have  seen  driving 
on  Fifth  Avenue  with  an  expression  of  wistful  haughti- 
ness, and  who  changes  her  costumes  four  times  a day. 

Sympathy  ! We  have  seen  Honora  surrounded  by  friends 
— what  has  become  of  them  ? Her  husband  is  president 
of  a trust  company,  and  she  has  one  of  the  most  desirable 
houses  in  New  York.  What  more  could  be  wished  for  ? 
To  jump  at  conclusions  in  this  way  is  by  no  means  to 
understand  a heroine  with  an  Ideal.  She  had  these  things, 
and  — strange  as  it  may  seem  — suffered. 

Her  sunny  drawing-room,  with  its  gathered  silk  curtains, 
was  especially  beautiful;  whatever  the  Leffingwells  or 
Allisons  may  have  lacked,  it  was  not  taste.  Honora  sat 
in  it  and  wondered : wondered,  as  she  looked  back  over 
the  road  she  had  threaded  somewhat  blindly  towards  the 
Ideal,  whether  she  might  not  somewhere  have  taken  the 

289 


u 


290 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


wrong  turn.  The  farther  she  travelled,  the  more  she 
seemed  to  penetrate  into  a land  of  unrealities.  The  ex- 
quisite objects  by  which  she  was  surrounded,  and  which 
she  had  collected  with  such  care,  had  no  substance:  she 
would  not  have  been  greatly  surprised,  at  any  moment,  to 
see  them  vanish  like  a scene  in  a theatre,  leaving  an  empty, 
windy  stage  behind  them.  They  did  not  belong  to  her, 
nor  she  to  them. 

Past  generations  of  another  blood,  no  doubt,  had  been 
justified  in  looking  upon  the  hazy  landscapes  in  the  great 
tapestries  as  their  own  : and  children’s  children  had  knelt, 
in  times  gone  by,  beside  the  carved  stone  mantel.  The 
big,  gilded  chairs  with  the  silken  seats  might  appropri- 
ately have  graced  the  table  of  the  Hotel  de  Rambouillet. 
Would  not  the  warriors  and  the  wits,  the  patient  ladies  of 
high  degree  and  of  many  children,  and  even  the  precieuses 
ridicules  themselves,  turn  over  in  their  graves  if  they  could 
so  much  as  imagine  the  contents  of  the  single  street  in 
modern  New  York  where  Honora  lived  ? 

One  morning,  as  she  sat  in  that  room,  possessed  by  these 
whimsical  though  painful  fancies,  she  picked  up  a news- 
paper and  glanced  through  it,  absently,  until  her  eye  fell 
by  chance  upon  a name  on  the  editorial  page.  Something 
like  an  electric  shock  ran  through  her,  and  the  letters  of 
the  name  seemed  to  quiver  and  become  red.  Slowly  they 
spelled  — Peter  Erwin. 

“ The  argument  of  Mr.  Peter  Erwin,  of  St.  Louis,  before 
the  Supreme  Court  of  the  United  States  in  the  now  cele- 
brated Snowden  case  is  universally  acknowledged  by 
lawyers  to  have  been  masterly,  and  reminiscent  of  the 
great  names  of  the  profession  in  the  past.  Mr.  Erwin  is 
not  dramatic.  He  appears  to  carry  all  before  him  by  the 
sheer  force  of  intellect,  and  by  a kind  of  Lincolnian  ability 
to  expose  a fallacy.  He  is  still  a young  man,  self-made,  and 
studied  law  under  Judge  Brice  of  St.  Louis,  once  Presi- 
dent of  the  National  Bar  Association,  whose  partner  he 
is”.  . . 

Honora  cut  out  the  editorial  and  thrust  it  in  her  gown, 
and  threw  the  newspaper  in  the  fire.  She  stood  for  a 


ASCEND! 


291 


time  after  it  had  burned,  watching  the  twisted  remnants 
fade  from  flame  colour  to  rose,  and  finally  blacken.  Then 
she  went  slowly  up  the  stairs  and  put  on  her  hat  and  coat 
and  veil.  Although  a cloudless  day,  it  was  windy  in  the 
park,  and  cold,  the  ruffled  waters  an  intense  blue.  She 
walked  fast. 

She  lunched  with  Mrs.  Holt,  who  had  but  just  come  to 
town;  and  the  light,  like  a speeding  guest,  was  departing 
from  the  city  when  she  reached  her  own  door. 

44  There  is  a gentleman  in  the  drawing-room,  madam,” 
said  the  butler.  44  He  said  he  was  an  old  friend,  and  a 
stranger  in  New  York,  and  asked  if  he  might  wait.” 

She  stood  still  with  presentiment. 

“ What  is  his  name  ? ” she  asked. 

44  Mr.  Erwin,”  said  the  man. 

Still  she  hesitated.  In  the  strange  state  in  which  she 
found  herself  that  day,  the  supernatural  itself  had  seemed 
credible.  And  yet  — she  was  not  prepared. 

“ I beg  pardon,  madam,”  the  butler  was  saying,  “ per- 
haps I shouldn’t  — ? ” 

44  Yes,  yes,  you  should,”  she  interrupted  him,  and  pushed 
past  him  up  the  stairs.  At  the  drawing-room  door  she 
paused  — he  was  unaware  of  her  presence.  And  he  had 
not  changed  ! She  wondered  why  she  had  expected  him 
to  change.  Even  the  glow  of  his  newly  acquired  fame 
was  not  discernible  behind  his  well-remembered  head. 
He  seemed  no  older — and  no  younger.  And  he  was 
standing  with  his  hands  behind  his  back  gazing  in  simple, 
silent  appreciation  at  the  big  tapestry  nearest  the  win- 
dows. 

44  Peter,”  she  said,  in  a low  voice. 

He  turned  quickly,  and  then  she  saw  the  glow.  But  it 
was  the  old  glow,  not  the  new  — the*  light  in  which  her 
early  years  had  been  spent. 

44  What  a coincidence!  ” she  exclaimed,  as  he  took  her 
hand. 

44  Coincidence  ? ” 

44  It  was  only  this  morning  that  I was  reading  in  the 
newspaper  all  sorts  of  nice  things  about  you.  It  made 


292 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


me  feel  like  going  out  and  telling  everybody  you 
were  an  old  friend  of  mine.”  Still  holding  his 
fingers,  she  pushed  him  away  from  her  at  arm’s 
length,  and  looked  at  him.  44  What  does  it  feel 
like  to  be  famous,  and  have  editorials  about  one’s 
self  in  the  New  York  newspapers?  ” 

He  laughed,  and  released  his  hands  some- 
what abruptly. 

44  It  seems  as  strange  to  me,  Honora,  as  it 
does  to  you.” 

44  How  unkind  of  you,  Peter!  ” she  exclaimed. 

She  felt  his  eyes  upon  her,  and  their  search-  * -I 
ing,  yet  kindly  and  humorous  rays  seemed  to 
illuminate  chambers  within  her  which  she 
would  have  kept  in  darkness:  which  she  her- 
self did  not  wish  to  examine. 

44  I’m  so  glad  to  see  you,”  she  said  a little 
breathlessly,  flinging  her  muff  and  boa  on  a 
chair.  44  Sit  there,  where  I can  look  at 
you,  and  tell  me  why  you  didn’t  let  me 
know  you  were  coming  to  New  York.” 

He  glanced  a little  comically  at  the  gilt 
and  silk  arm-chair  which  she  desig- 
nated, and  then  at  her;  and 
she  smiled  and  coloured,  di- 
vining the  hu- 
mour in  his  un- 
spoken phrase. 


ASCENDI 


293 


“ For  a great  man,”  she  declared,  “you  are  absurd.” 

He  sat  down.  In  spite  of  his  black  clothes  and  the 
lounging  attitude  he  habitually  assumed,  with  his  knees 
crossed,  he  did  not  appear  incongruous  in  a seat  that  would 
have  harmonized  with  the  flowing  robes  of  the  renowned 
French  Cardinal  himself.  Honora  wondered  why.  He 
impressed  her  to-day  as  force  — tremendous  force  in  re- 
pose, and  yet  he  was  the  same  Peter.  Why  was  it  ? Had 
the  clipping  that  even  then  lay  in  her  bosom  effected  this 
magic  change  ? He  had  intimated  as  much,  but  she  denied 
it  fiercely. 

She  rang  for  tea. 

“You  haven’t  told  me  why  you  came  to  New  York,” 
she  said. 

“I  was  telegraphed  for,  from  Washington,  by  a Mr. 
Wing,”  he  explained. 

“ A Mr.  Wing,”  she  repeated.  “ You  don’t  mean  by  any 
chance  James  Wing  ? ” 

“ The  Mr.  Wing,”  said  Peter. 

“ The  reason  I asked,”  explained  Honora,  flushing, 
“was  because  Howard  is — associated  with  him.  Mr. 
Wing  is  largely  interested  in  the  Orange  Trust  Com- 
pany.” 

“ Yes,  I know,”  said  Peter.  His  elbows  were  resting  on 
the  arms  of  his  chair,  and  he  looked  at  the  tips  of  his 
fingers,  which  met.  Honora  thought  it  strange  that  he 
did  not  congratulate  her,  but  he  appeared  to  be  reflecting. 

“What  did  Mr.  Wing  want?”  she  inquired  in  her 
momentary  confusion,  and  added  hastily,  “ I beg  your 
pardon,  Peter.  I suppose  I ought  not  to  ask  that.” 

“ He  was  kind  enough  to  wish  me  to  live  in  New  York,” 
he  answered,  still  staring  at  the  tips  of  his  fingers. 

“ Oh,  how  nice  ! ” she  cried  — and  wondered  at  the 
same  time  whether,  on  second  thoughts,  she  would  think 
it  so.  “ I suppose  he  wants  you  to  be  the  counsel  for  one 
of  his  trusts.  When  — when  do  you  come  ? ” 

“ I’m  not  coming.” 

“ Not  coming  ! Why  ? Isn’t  it  a great  compliment?  ” 

He  ignored  the  latter  part  of  her  remark ; and  it  seemed 


294 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


to  her,  when  she  recalled  the  conversation  afterwards,  that 
she  had  heard  a certain  note  of  sadness  under  the  light- 
ness of  his  reply. 

“ To  attempt  to  explain  to  a New  Yorker  why  any  one 
might  prefer  to  live  in  any  other  place  would  be  a difficult 
task.” 

“You  are  incomprehensible,  Peter,”  she  declared.  And 
yet  she  felt  a relief  that  surprised  her,  and  a desire  to  get 
away  from  the  subject.  “ Dear  old  St.  Louis  ! Somehow, 
in  spite  of  your  greatness,  it  seems  to  fit  you.” 

“ It’s  growing,”  said  Peter — and  they  laughed  together. 

u Why  didn’t  you  come  to  lunch  ? ” she  said. 

“ Lunch  ! I didn’t  know  that  any  one  ever  went  to  lunch 
in  New  York  — in  this  part  of  it,  at  least — with  less  than 
three  weeks’  notice.  And  by  the  way,  if  I am  interfering 
with  any  engagement  — ” 

“ My  book  is  not  so  full  as  all  that.  Of  course  you’ll 
come  and  stay  with  us,  Peter.” 

He  shook  his  head  regretfully. 

“ My  train  leaves  at  six,  from  Forty-Second  Street,”  he 
replied. 

“ Oh,  you  are  niggardly ,”  she  cried.  “ To  think  how 
little  I see  of  you,  Peter.  And  sometimes  I long  for  you. 
It’s  strange,  but  I still  miss  you  terribly  — after  five  years. 
It  seems  longer  than  that,”  she  added,  as  she  poured  the 
boiling  water  into  the  tea-pot.  But  she  did  not  look  at 
him. 

He  got  up  and  walked  as  far  as  a water-colour  on  the 
wall. 

“ You  have  some  beautiful  things  here,  Honora,”  he 
said.  “ I am  glad  I have  had  a glimpse  of  you  surrounded 
by  them  to  carry  back  to  your  aunt  and  uncle.” 

She  glanced  about  the  room  as  he  spoke,  and  then  at 
him.  He  seemed  the  only  reality  in  it,  but  she  did  not 
say  so. 

“ You’ll  see  them  soon,”  was  what  she  said.  And 
considered  the  miracle  of  him  staying  there  where 
Providence  had  placed  him,  and  bringing  the  world  to 
him.  Whereas  she,  who  had  gone  forth  to  seek  it  — 


ASCENDI 


295 


“ The  day  after  to-morrow  will  be  Sunday,”  he  reminded 
her. 

Nothing  had  changed  there.  She  closed  her  eyes  and 
saw  the  little  dining  room  in  all  the  dignity  of  Sunday 
dinner,  the  big  silver  soup  tureen  catching  the  sun,  the 
flowered  china  with  the  gilt  edges,  and  even  a glimpse  of 
lace  paper  when  the  closet  door  opened ; Aunt  Mary 
and  Uncle  Tom  with  Peter  between  them.  And  these, 
strangely,  were  the  only  tangible  things  and  immutable. 

44  You’ll  give  them  — a good  account  of  me  ?”  she  said. 
“I  know  that  you  do  not  care  for  New  York,”  she  added 
with  a smile.  44  But  it  is  possible  to  be  happy  here.” 

44 1 am  glad  you  are  happy,  Honora,  and  that  you  have 
got  what  you  wanted  in  life.  Although  I may  be  un- 
reasonable and  provincial  and  — and  Western,”  he  con- 
fessed with  a twinkle  — for  he  had  the  characteristic 
national  trait  of  shading  off  his  most  serious  remarks  — 
44 1 have  never  gone  so  far  as  to  declare  that  happiness 
was  a question  of  locality.” 

She  laughed. 

44  Nor  fame.”  Her  mind  returned  to  the  loadstar. 

44  Oh,  fame  ! ” he  exclaimed,  with  a touch  of  impatience, 
and  he  used  the  word  that  had  possessed  her  all  day. 
44  There  is  no  reality  in  that.  Men  are  not  loved  for  it.” 

She  set  down  her  cup  quickly.  He  was  looking  at  the 
water-colour. 

44  Have  you  been  to  the  Metropolitan  Museum  lately  ? ” 
he  asked. 

44  The  Metropolitan  Museum  ? ” she  repeated  in  bewil- 
derment. 

44  That  would  be  one  of  the  temptations  of  New  York 
for  me,”  he  said.  44 1 was  there  for  half  an  hour  this 
afternoon  before  I presented  myself  at  your  door  as  a sus- 
picious character.  There  is  a picture  there,  by  Coffin, 
called  4 The  Rain,’  I believe.  I am  very  fond  of  it.  And 
looking  at  it  on  such  a winter’s  day  as  this  brings  back 
the  summer.  The  squall  coming,  and  the  sound  of  it  in 
the  trees,  and  the  very  smell  of  the  wet  meadow-grass  in 
the  wind.  Do  you  know  it  ? ” 


296 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


“No,”  replied  Honora,  and  she  was  suddenly  filled  with 
shame  at  the  thought  that  she  had  never  been  in  the 
Museum.  “ I didn’t  know  you  were  so  fond  of  pictures.” 

“ I am  beginning  to  be  a rival  of  Mr.  Dwyer,”  he  de- 
clared. “ I’ve  bought  four — although  I haven’t  built  my 
gallery.  When  you  come  to  St.  Louis  I’ll  show  them  to 
you  — and  let  us  hope  it  will  be  soon.” 

For  some  time  after  she  had  heard  the  street  door  close 
behind  him  Honora  remained  where  she  was,  staring  into 
the  fire,  and  then  she  crossed  the  room  to  a reading  lamp, 
and  turned  it  up. 

Some  one  spoke  in  the  doorway. 

“ Mr.  Grainger,  madam.” 

Before  she  could  rouse  herself  and  recover  from  her  as- 
tonishment, the  gentleman  himself  appeared,  blinking  as 
though  the  vision  of  her  were  too  bright  to  be  steadily 
gazed  at.  If  the  city  had  been  searched,  it  is  doubtful 
whether  a more  striking  contrast  to  the  man  who  had  just 
left  could  have  been  found  than  Cecil  Grainger  in  the 
braided,  grey  cutaway  that  clung  to  the  semblance  of  a 
waist  he  still  possessed.  In  him  Hyde  Park  and  Fifth 
Avenue,  so  to  speak,  shook  hands  across  the  sea  : put  him 
in  either,  and  he  would  have  appeared  indigenous. 

“ Hope  you’ll  forgive  my  cornin’  ’round  on  such  slight 
acquaintance,  Mrs.  Spence,”  said  he.  “ Couldn’t  resist 
the  opportunity  to  pay  my  respects.  Shorter  told  me 
where  you  were.” 

“ That  was  very  good  of  Mr.  Shorter,”  said  Honora, 
whose  surprise  had  given  place  to  a very  natural  resent- 
ment, since  she  had  not  the  honour  of  knowing  Mrs. 
Grainger. 

“ Oh,”  said  Mr.  Grainger,  “ Shorter’s  a good  sort. 
Said  he’d  been  here  himself  to  see  how  you  were  fixed,  and 
hadn’t  found  you  in.  Uncommonly  well  fixed,  I should 
say,”  he  added,  glancing  around  the  room  with  undisguised 
approval.  “ Why  the  deuce  did  she  furnish  it,  since  she’s 
gone  to  Paris  to  live  with  Rindge  ? ” 


“ I suppose  you  mean  Mrs.  Rindge,”  said  Honora. 
“She  didn’t  furnish  it.” 


ASCENDI 


297 


Mr.  Grainger  winked  at  her  rapidly,  like  a man  suddenly 
brought  face  to  face  with  a mystery. 

“Oh!”  he  replied,  as  though  he  had  solved  it.  The 
solution  came  a few  moments  later.  “ It’s  ripping  ! ” he 
said.  “ Harwell  couldn’t  have  done  it  any  better.” 

Honora  laughed,  and  momentarily  forgot  her  resent- 
ment. 

“ Will  you  have  tea  ? ” she  asked.  “ Oh,  don’t  sit  down 
there  ! ” 

“ Why  not  ? ” he  asked,  jumping.  It  was  the  chair  that 
had  held  Peter,  and  Mr.  Grainger  examined  the  seat  as 
though  he  suspected  a bent  pin. 

“ Because,”  said  Honora,  “ because  it  isn’t  comfortable. 
Pull  up  that  other  one.” 

Again  mystified,  he  did  as  he  was  told.  She  remem- 
bered his  reputation  for  going  to  sleep,  and  wondered 
whether  she  had  been  wise  in  her  second  choice.  But  it 
soon  became  apparent  that  Mr.  Grainger,  as  he  gazed  at 
her  from  among  the  cushions,  had  no  intention  of  dozing. 
His  eyelids  reminded  her  of  the  shutters  of  a camera,  and 
she  had  the  feeling  of  sitting  for  thousands  of  instantaneous 
photographs  for  his  benefit.  She  was  by  turns  annoyed, 
amused,  and  distrait : Peter  was  leaving  his  hotel ; now 
he  was  taking  the  train.  Was  he  thinking  of  her?  He 
had  said  he  was  glad  she  was  happy  ! She  caught  her- 
self up  with  a start  after  one  of  these  silences  to  realize 
that  Mr.  Grainger  was  making  unwonted  and  indeed 
pathetic  exertions  to  entertain  her,  and  it  needed  no 
feminine  eye  to  perceive  that  he  was  thoroughly  uncom- 
fortable. She  had,  unconsciously  and  in  thinking  of 
Peter,  rather  overdone  the  note  of  rebuke  of  his  visit. 
And  Honora  was,  above  all  else,  an  artist.  His  air 
was  distinctly  apologetic  as  he  rose,  perhaps  a little 
mortified,  like  that  of  a man  who  has  got  into  the  wrong 
house. 

“I  very  much  fear  I’ve  intruded,  Mrs.  Spence,”  he 
stammered,  and  he  was  winking  now  with  bewildering 
rapidity.  “We  — we  had  such  a pleasant  drive  to- 
gether that  day  to  Westchester  — I was  tempted  — ” 


298 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


“We  did  have  a good  time,”  she  agreed.  “And  it  has 
been  a pleasure  to  see  yon  again.” 

Thus,  in  the  kindness  of  her  heart,  she  assisted  him  to 
cover  his  retreat,  for  it  was  a strange  and  somewhat  awful 
experience  to  see  Mr.  Cecil  Grainger  discountenanced. 
He  glanced  again,  as  he  went  out,  at  the  chair  in  which  he 
had  been  forbidden  to  sit. 

She  went  to  the  piano,  played  over  a few  bars  of 
Thais , and  dropped  her  hands  listlessly.  Cross  currents 
of  the  strange  events  of  the  day  flowed  through  her  mind : 
Peter’s  arrival  and  its  odd  heralding,  and  the  discomfort 
of  Mr.  Grainger. 

Howard  came  in.  He  did  not  see  her  under  the  shaded 
lamp,  and  she  sat  watching  him  with  a curious  feeling  of 
detachment  as  he  unfolded  his  newspaper  and  sank,  with 
a sigh  of  content,  into  the  cushioned  chair  which  Mr. 
Grainger  had  vacated.  Was  it  fancy  that  her  husband’s 
physical  attributes  had  changed  since  he  had  attained  his 
new  position  of  dignity  ? She  could  have  sworn  that  he  had 
visibly  swollen  on  the  evening  when  he  had  announced  to 
her  his  promotion,  and  he  seemed  to  have  remained  swollen. 
Not  bloated,  of  course:  he  was  fatter,  and  — if  possible  — 
pinker.  But  there  was  a growing  suggestion  in  him  of 
humming-and-hawing  greatness.  If  there  were  leisure 
in  this  too-leisurely  chronicle  for  what  might  be  called 
aftermath,  the  dinner  that  Honora  had  given  to  some  of 
her  Quicksands  friends  might  be  described.  Suffice  it 
to  recall,  with  Honora,  that  Lily  Dallam,  with  a sure  in- 
stinct, had  put  the  finger  of  her  wit  on  this  new  attribute 
of  Howard’s. 

“You’ll  kill  me,  Howard  ! ” she  had  cried.  “He  even 
looks  at  the  soup  as  though  he  were  examining  a security  ! ” 

Needless  to  say,  it  did  not  cure  him,  although  it  sealed 
Lily  Dallam’s  fate — and  incidentally  that  of  Quicksands. 
Honora’s  thoughts  as  she  sat  now  at  the  piano  watching 
him,  flew  back  unexpectedly  to  the  summer  at  Silverdale 
when  she  had  met  him,  and  she  tried  to  imagine  the 
genial  and  boyish  representative  of  finance  that  he  was 


ASCENDI 


299 


then.  In  the  midst  of  this  effort  he  looked  up  and  dis- 
covered her. 

“What  are  you  doing  over  there,  Honora?”  he  asked. 

“ Thinking,”  she  answered. 

“ That’s  a great  way  to  treat  a man  when  he  comes 
home  after  a day’s  work.” 

“ I beg  your  pardon,  Howard,”  she  said  with  unusual 
meekness.  “ Who  do  you  think  was  here  this  afternoon  ? ” 

“Erwin?  I’ve  just  come  from  Mr.  Wing’s  house  — he 
has  gout  to-day  and  didn’t  go  down  town.  He  offered 
Erwin  a hundred  thousand  a year  to  come  to  New  York  as 
corporation  counsel.  And  if  you’ll  believe  me  — he  re- 
fused it.” 

“ I’ll  believe  you,”  she  said. 

“ Did  he  say  anything  about  it  to  you  ? ” 

“He  simply  mentioned  that  Mr.  Wing  asked  him  to 
come  to  New  York.  He  didn’t  say  why.” 

“ Well,”  Howard  remarked,  “ he’s  one  too  many  for  me. 
He  can’t  be  making  over  thirty  thousand  where  he  is.” 


CHAPTER  II 


THE  PATH  OF  PHILANTHROPY 

Mrs.  Cecil  Grainger  may  safely  have  been  called  a 
Personality,  and  one  of  the  proofs  of  this  was  that  she 
haunted  people  who  had  never  seen  her.  Honora 
might  have  looked  at  her,  it  is  true,  on  the  memor- 
able night  of  the  dinner  with  Mrs.  Holt  and  Trix- 
ton  Brent;  but  — for  sufficiently  obvious  reasons  — re- 
frained. It  would  be  an  exaggeration  to  say  that  Mrs. 
Grainger  became  an  obsession  with  our  heroine  ; yet  it 
cannot  be  denied  that,  since  Honora’s  arrival  at  Quick- 
sands, this  lady  had,  in  increasing  degrees,  been  the  sub- 
ject of  her  speculations.  The  threads  of  Mrs.  Grainger’s 
influence  were  so  ramified,  indeed,  as  to  be  found  in  Mrs. 
Dallam,  who  declared  she  was  the  rudest  woman  in  New 
York  and  yet  had  copied  her  brougham  ; in  Mr.  Cuthbert 
and  Trixton  Brent ; in  Mrs.  Kame ; in  Mrs.  Holt,  who 
proclaimed  her  a tower  of  strength  in  charities ; and 
lastly  in  Mr.  Grainger  himself,  who,  although  he  did  not 
spend  much  time  in  his  wife’s  company,  had  for  her  an 
admiration  that  amounted  to  awe. 

Elizabeth  Grainger,  who  was  at  once  modern  and  tena- 
ciously conservative,  might  have  been  likened  to  some  of 
the  Roman  matrons  of  the  aristocracy  in  the  last  years 
of  the  Republic.  Her  family,  the  Pendletons,  had  tradi- 
tions : so,  for  that  matter,  had  the  Graingers.  But  Sen- 
ator Pendleton,  antiqua  homo  virtute  et  fide , had  been  a 
Roman  of  the  old  school  who  would  have  preferred  exile 
after  the  battle  of  Philippi ; and  who,  could  he  have 
foreseen  modem  New  York  and  modern  finance,  would 
have  been  more  content  to  die  when  he  did.  He  had 
lived  in  Washington  Square.  His  daughter  inherited  his 
executive  ability,  many  of  his  prejudices  (as  they  would 
now  be  called),  and  his  habit  of  regarding  favourable 

300 


THE  PATH  OF  PHILANTHROPY 


301 


impressions  with  profound  suspicion.  She  had  never 
known  the  necessity  of  making  friends:  hers  she  had 
inherited,  and  for  some  reason  specially  decreed,  they 
were  better  than  those  of  less  fortunate  people. 

Mrs.  Grainger  was  very  tall.  And  Sargent,  in  his 
portrait  of  her,  had  caught  with  admirable  art  the  in- 
definable, yet  partly  supercilious  and  scornful  smile  with 
which  she  looked  down  upon  the  world  about  her.  She 
possessed  the  rare  gift  of  combining  conventionality  with 
personal  distinction  in  her  dress.  Her  hair  was  almost 
Titian  red  in  colour,  and  her  face  (on  the  authority  of 
Mr.  Reginald  Far  well)  was  at  once  modern  and  Italian 
Renaissance.  Not  the  languid,  amorous  Renaissance, 
but  the  lady  of  decision  who  chose,  and  did  not  wait 
to  be  chosen.  Her  eyes  had  all  the  colours  of  the  topaz, 
and  her  regard  was  so  baffling  as  to  arouse  intense  antago- 
nism in  those  who  were  not  her  friends. 

To  Honora,  groping  about  for  a better  and  a higher 
life,  the  path  of  philanthropy  had  more  than  once  sug- 
gested itself.  And  on  the  day  of  Peter’s  visit  to  New 
York,  when  she  had  lunched  with  Mrs.  Holt,  she  had 
signified  her  willingness  (now  that  she  had  come  to  live 
in  town)  to  join  the  Working  Girls’  Relief  Society. 
Mrs.  Holt,  needless  to  say,  was  overjoyed : they  were  to 
have  a meeting  at  her  house  in  the  near  future  which 
Honora  must  not  fail  to  attend.  It  was  not,  however, 
without  a feeling  of  trepidation  natural  to  a stranger 
that  she  made  her  way  to  that  meeting  when  the  after- 
noon arrived. 

No  sooner  was  she  seated  in  Mrs.  Holt’s  drawing-room 
— filled  with  camp-chairs  for  the  occasion  — than  she 
found  herself  listening  breathlessly  to  a recital  of  personal 
experiences  by  a young  woman  who  worked  in  a bindery 
on  the  East  side.  Honora’s  heart  was  soft : her  sym- 
pathies, as  we  know,  easily  aroused.  And  after  the 
young  woman  had  told  with  great  simplicity  and  earnest- 
ness of  the  struggle  to  support  herself  and  lead  an  honest 
and  self-respecting  existence,  it  seemed  to  Honora  that  at 
last  she  had  opened  the  book  of  life  at  the  proper  page. 


302 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


Afterwards  there  were  questions,  and  a report  by 
Miss  Harber,  a middle-aged  lady  with  glasses  who  was 
the  secretary.  Honora  looked  around  her.  The  member- 
ship of  the  Society,  judging  by  those  present,  was  surely 
of  a sufficiently  heterogeneous  character  to  satisfy  even 
the  catholic  tastes  of  her  hostess.  There  were  elderly 
ladies,  some  benevolent  and  some  formidable,  some 
bedecked  and  others  unadorned there  were  earnest-look- 
ing younger  women,  to  whom  dress  was  evidently  a 
secondary  consideration  ; and  there  was  a sprinkling  of 
others,  perfectly  gowned,  several  of  whom  were  gathered 
in  an  opposite  corner.  Honora’s  eyes,  as  the  reading 
of  the  report  progressed,  were  drawn  by  a continual 
and  resistless  attraction  to  this  group ; or  rather  to 
the  face  of  one  of  the  women  in  it,  which  seemed  to  stare 
out  at  her  like  the  cat  in  the  tree  of  an  old-fashioned  picture 
puzzle,  or  the  lineaments  of  George  Washington  among  a 
mass  of  boulders  on  a cliff.  Once  one  has  discovered  it, 
one  can  see  nothing  else.  In  vain  Honora  dropped  her 
eyes;  some  strange  fascination  compelled  her  to  raise 
them  again  until  they  met  those  of  the  other  woman. 
Did  their  glances  meet  ? She  could  never  quite  be  sure, 
so  disconcerting  were  the  lights  in  that  regard  — lights, 
seemingly,  of  laughter  and  mockery. 

Some  instinct  informed  Honora  that  the  woman  was 
Mrs.  Grainger,  and  immediately  the  scene  in  the  Holland 
House  dining-room  came  back  to  her.  Never  until  now 
had  she  felt  the  full  horror  of  its  comedy.  And  then, 
as  though  to  fill  the  cup  of  humiliation,  came  the  thought 
of  Cecil  Grainger’s  call.  She  longed,  in  an  agony  with 
which  sensitive  natures  will  sympathize,  for  the  reading 
to  be  over. 

The  last  paragraph  of  the  report  contained  tributes  to 
Mrs.  J osliua  Holt  and  Mrs.  Cecil  Grainger  for  the  work  each 
had  done  during  the  year,  and  amidst  enthusiastic  hand- 
clapping the  formal  part  of  the  meeting  came  to  an  end. 
The  servants  were  entering  with  tea  as  Honora  made  her 
way  towards  the  door,  where  she  was  stopped  by  Susan 
Holt. 


THE  PATH  OF  PHILANTHROPY 


303 


44  My  dear  Honora,”  cried  Mrs.  Holt,  who  had  hurried 
after  her  daughter,  44  you’re  not  going  ? ” 

Honora  suddenly  found  herself  without  an  excuse. 

“I  really  ought  to,  Mrs.  Holt.  I’ve  had  such  a good 
time  — and  I’ve  been  so  interested.  I never  realized  that 
such  things  occurred.  And  I’ve  got  one  of  the  reports, 
which  I intend  to  read  over  again.” 

44  But  my  dear,”  protested  Mrs.  Holt,  44  you  must  meet 
some  of  the  members  of  the  Society.  Bessie  ! ” 

Mrs.  Grainger,  indeed  — for  Honora  had  been  right  in 
her  surmise  — was  standing  within  ear-shot  of  this  conver- 
sation. And  Honora,  who  knew  she  was  there,  could  not 
help  feeling  that  she  took  a rather  redoubtable  interest  in 
it.  At  Mrs.  Holt’s  words  she  turned. 

44  Bessie,  I’ve  found  a new  recruit  — one  that  I can 
answer  for.  Mrs.  Spence,  whom  I spoke  to  you  about.” 
Mrs.  Grainger  bestowed  upon  Honora  her  enigmatic  smile. 
44  Oh,”  she  declared,  44  I’ve  heard  of  Mrs.  Spence  from 
other  sources,  and  I’ve  seen  her,  too.” 

Honora  grew  a fiery  red.  There  was  obviously  no 
answer  to  such  a remark,  which  seemed  the  quintessence 
of  rudeness.  But  Mrs.  Grainger  continued  to  smile,  and 
to  stare  at  her  with  the  air  of  trying  to  solve  a riddle. 

44  I’m  coming  to  see  you,  if  I may,”  she  said.  44  I’ve 
been  intending  to  since  I’ve  been  in  town,  but  I’m  always 
so  busy  that  I don’t  get  time  to  do  the  things  I want  to 
do.” 

An  announcement  that  fairly  took  away  Honora’s 
breath.  She  managed  to  express  her  appreciation  of  Mrs. 
Grainger’s  intention,  and  presently  found  herself  walking 
rapidly  up-town  through  swirling  snow,  somewhat  dazed 
by  the  events  of  the  afternoon.  And  these,  by  the  way, 
were  not  yet  finished.  As  she  reached  her  own  door,  a 
voice  vaguely  familiar  called  her  name. 

44  Honora  ! ” 

She  turned.  The  slim,  tall  figure  of  a young  woman 
descended  from  a carriage  and  crossed  the  pavement,  and 
in  the  soft  light  of  the  vestibule  she  recognized  Ethel 
Wing. 


304 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


“I’m  so  glad  I caught  you,”  said  that  young  lady  when 
they  entered  the  drawing-room.  And  she  gazed  at  her 
school  friend.  The  colour  glowed  in  Honora’s  cheeks, 
but  health  alone  could  not  account  for  the  sparkle  in  her 
eyes.  “ Why,  you  look  radiant.  You  are  more  beautiful 
than  you  were  at  Sutcliffe.  Is  it  marriage  ? ” 

Honora  laughed  happily,  and  they  sat  down  side  by 
side  on  the  lounge  behind  the  tea  table. 


“ I heard  you’d  married,”  said  Ethel,  “ but  I didn’t 
know  what  had  become  of  you  until  the  other  day.  Jim 
never  tells  me  anything.  It  appears  that  he’s  seen  some- 
thing of  you.  But  it  wasn’t  from  Jim  that  I heard  about 
you  first.  You’d  never  guess  who  told  me  you  were  here.” 
“ Who  ? ” asked  Honora,  curiously. 

“ Mr.  Erwin.” 

“ Peter  Erwin  ! ” 

“ I’m  perfectly  shameless,”  proclaimed  Ethel  Wing. 
“ I’ve  lost  my  heart  to  him,  and  I don’t  care  who  knows 
it.  Why  in  the  world  didn’t  you  marry  him  ? ” 

“ But  — where  did  you  see  him  ? ” Honora  demanded 
as  soon  as  she  could  command  herself  sufficiently  to  speak. 
Her  voice  must  have  sounded  odd.  Ethel  did  not  appear 
to  notice  that. 


THE  PATH  OF  PHILANTHROPY 


305 


“ He  lunched  with  us  one  day  when  father  had  gout. 
Didn’t  he  tell  you  about  it  ? He  said  he  was  coming  to 
see  you  that  afternoon.” 

“Yes  — he  came.  But  he  didn’t  mention  being  at 
lunch  at  your  house.” 

“I’m  sure  that  was  like  him,”  declared  her  friend. 
And  for  the  first  time  in  her  life  Honora  experienced  a 
twinge  of  that  world-old  ailment  — jealousy.  How  did 
Ethel  know  what  was  like  him  ? “I  made  father  give 
him  up  for  a little  while  after  lunch,  and  he  talked  about 
you  the  whole  time.  But  he  was  most  interesting  at  the 
table,”  continued  Ethel,  sublimely  unconscious  of  the  lack 
of  compliment  in  the  comparison;  “as  Jim  would  say,  he 
fairly  wiped  up  the  ground  with  father,  and  it  isn’t  an 
easy  thing  to  do.” 

“Wiped  up  the  ground  with  Mr.  Wing!”  Honora 
repeated. 

“Oh,  in  a delightfully  quiet,  humorous  way.  That’s 
what  made  it  so  effective.  I couldn’t  understand  all  of 
it,  but  I grasped  enough  to  enjoy  it  hugely.  Father’s  so 
used  to  bullying  people  that  it’s  become  second  nature 
with  him.  I’ve  seen  him  lay  down  the  law  to  some  of  the 
biggest  lawyers  in  New  York,  and  they  took  it  like  little 
lambs.  He  caught  a Tartar  in  Mr.  Erwin.  I didn’t  dare 
to  laugh,  but  I wanted  to.” 

“What  was  the  discussion  about?”  asked  Honora. 

“ I’m  not  sure  that  I can  give  you  a very  clear  idea  of 
it,”  said  Ethel.  “ Generally  speaking,  it  was  about  mod- 
ern trust  methods,  and  what  a self-respecting  lawyer 
would  do  and  what  he  wouldn’t.  Father  took  the  ground 
that  the  laws  weren’t  logical,  and  that  they  were  different 
and  conflicting,  anyway,  in  different  States.  He  said 
they  impeded  the  natural  development  of  business,  and 
that  it  was  justifiable  for  the  great  legal  brains  of  the 
country  to  devise  means  by  which  these  laws  could  be 
eluded.  He  didn’t  quite  say  that,  but  he  meant  it,  and 
he  honestly  believes  it.  The  manner  in  which  Mr.  Erwin 
refuted  it  was  a revelation  to  me.  I’ve  been  thinking 
about  it  since.  You  see,  I’d  never  heard  that  side  of  the 


306 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


argument.  Mr.  Erwin  said,  in  the  nicest  way  possible, 
but  very  firmly,  that  a lawyer  who  hired  himself  out  to 
enable  one  man  to  take  advantage  of  another  prostituted 
his  talents  : that  the  brains  of  the  legal  profession  were 
out  of  politics  in  these  days,  and  that  it  was  almost 
impossible  for  the  men  in  the  legislatures  to  frame  laws 
that  couldn’t  be  evaded  by  clever  and  unscrupulous  de- 
vices. He  cited  ever  so  many  cases  ...” 

Ethel’s  voice  became  indistinct,  as  though  some  one  had 
shut  a door  in  front  of  it.  Honora  was  trembling  on  the 
brink  of  a discovery  : holding  herself  back  from  it,  as  one 
who  has  climbed  a fair  mountain  recoils  from  the  lip  of  an 
unsuspected  crater  at  sight  of  the  lazy,  sulphurous  fumes. 
All  the  years  of  her  marriage,  ever  since  she  had  first 
heard  his  name,  the  stature  of  James  Wing  had  been  in- 
sensibly growing,  and  the  vastness  of  his  empire  gradually 
disclosed.  She  had  lived  in  that  empire:  in  it  his  word 
had  stood  for  authority,  his  genius  had  been  worshipped, 
his  decrees  had  been  absolute. 

She  had  met  him  once,  in  Howard’s  office,  when  he  had 
greeted  her  gruffly,  and  the  memory  of  his  rugged  features 
and  small  red  eyes,  like  live  coals,  had  remained.  And  she 
saw  now  the  drama  that  had  taken  place  before  Ethel’s 
eyes.  The  capitalist,  overbearing,  tyrannical,  hearing 
a few,  simple  truths  in  his  own  house  from  Peter — her 
Peter.  And  she  recalled  her  husband’s  account  of  his 
talk  with  James  Wing.  Peter  had  refused  to  sell  him- 
self. Had  Howard  ? Many  times  during  the  days  that 
followed  she  summoned  her  courage  to  ask  her  husband 
that  question,  and  kept  silence.  She  did  not  wish  to  know. 

“ I don’t  want  to  seem  disloyal  to  papa,”  Ethel  was 
saying.  “ He  is  under  great  responsibilities  to  other 
people,  to  stockholders ; and  he  must  get  things  done. 
But  oh,  Honora,  I’m  so  tired  of  money,  money,  money  and 
its  standards,  and  the  things  people  are  willing  to  do  for 
it.  I’ve  seen  too  much.” 

Honora  looked  at  her  friend,  and  believed  her.  One 
glance  at  the  girl’s  tired  eyes  — a weariness  somehow  en- 
hanced in  effect  by  the  gold  sheen  of  her  hair  — confirmed 
the  truth  of  her  words. 


THE  PATH  OF  PHILANTHROPY 


307 


“ You’ve  changed,  Ethel,  since  Sutcliffe,”  she  said. 

“ Yes,  I’ve  changed,”  said  Ethel  Wing,  and  the  weari- 
ness was  in  her  voice,  too.  “ I’ve  had  too  much,  Honora. 
Life  was  all  glitter,  like  a Christmas  tree,  when  I left  Sut- 
cliffe. I had  no  heart.  I’m  not  at  all  sure  that  I have 
one  now.  I’ve  known  all  kinds  of  people  — except  the 
right  kind.  And  if  I were  to  tell  you  some  of  the  things 
that  have  happened  to  me  in  five  years  you  wouldn’t  be- 
lieve them.  Money  has  been  at  the  bottom  of  it  all,  — it 
ruined  my  brother,  and  it  has  ruined  me.  And  then,  the 
other  day,  I beheld  a man  whose  standards  simply  take 
no  account  of  money,  a man  who  holds  something  else 
higher.  I — I had  been  groping  lately,  and  then  I 
seemed  to  see  clear  for  the  first  time  in  my  life.  But 
I’m  afraid  it  comes  too  late.” 

Honora  took  her  friend’s  hand  in  her  own  and  pressed  it. 

“ I don’t  know  why  I’m  telling  you  all  this,”  said 
Ethel.  “ It  seems  to-day  as  though  I had  always  known 
you,  and  yet  we  weren’t  particularly  intimate  at  school. 
I suppose  I’m  inclined  to  be  over-suspicious.  Heaven 
knows  I’ve  had  enough  to  make  me  so.  But  I always 
thought  that  you  were  a little  — ambitious.  You’ll  forgive 
my  frankness,  Honora.  I don’t  think  you’re  at  all  so, 
now.”  She  glanced  at  Honora  suddenly.  “ Perhaps 
you’ve  changed,  too,”  she  said. 

Honora  nodded. 

“ I think  I’m  changing  all  the  time,”  she  replied. 

After  a moment’s  silence,  Ethel  Wing  pursued  her  own 
train  of  thought. 

“Curiously  enough  when  he  — when  Mr.  Erwin  spoke 
of  you  I seemed  to  get  a very  different  idea  of  you  than 
the  one  I had  always  had.  I had  to  go  out  of  town,  but 
I made  up  my  mind  I’d  come  to  see  you  as  soon  as  I got 
back,  and  ask  you  to  tell  me  something  about  him.” 

“ What  shall  I tell  you  ? ” asked  Honora.  “ He  is  — 
what  you  think  he  is,  and  more.” 

“ Tell  me  something  of  his  early  life,”  said  Ethel  Wing. 

There  is  a famous  river  in  the  western  part  of  our 
country  that  disappears  into  a canon,  the  walls  of  which 


308 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


are  some  thousands  of  feet  high,  and  the  bottom  so  narrow 
that  the  confined  waters  roar  through  it  at  breakneck 
speed.  Sometimes  they  disappear  entirely  under  the  rock, 
to  emerge  again  below  more  furiously  than  ever.  From 
the  river-bed  can  be  seen,  far,  far  above,  a blue  ribbon  of 
sky.  Once  upon  a time,  not  long  ago,  two  heroes  in  the 
service  of  the  government  of  the  United  States,  whose 
names  should  be  graven  in  the  immortal  rock  and  whose 
story  read  wherever  the  language  is  spoken,  made  the 
journey  through  this  canon  and  came  out  alive.  That 
journey  once  started,  there  could  be  no  turning  back. 
Down  and  down  they  were  buffeted  by  the  rushing  waters, 
over  the  falls  and  through  the  tunnels,  with  time  to  think 
only  of  that  which  would  save  them  from  immediate  death, 
until  they  emerged  into  the  sunlight  of  the  plain  below. 

All  of  which  by  way  of  parallel.  For  our  own  chronicle, 
hitherto  leisurely  enough,  is  coming  to  its  canon  — per- 
haps even  now  begins  to  feel  the  pressure  of  the  shelving 
sides.  And  if  our  heroine  be  somewhat  rudely  tossed 
from  one  boulder  to  another,  if  we  fail  wholly  to  under- 
stand her  emotions  and  her  acts,  we  must  blame  the 
canon.  She  had,  indeed,  little  time  to  think. 

One  evening,  three  weeks  or  so  after  the  conversation 
with  Ethel  Wing  just  related,  Honora’s  husband  entered 
her  room  as  her  maid  was  giving  the  finishing  touches  to 
her  toilet. 

44  You’re  not  going  to  wear  that  dress  ! ” he  exclaimed. 

44  Why  not  ? ” she  asked,  without  turning  from  the  mirror. 

He  lighted  a cigarette. 

44 1 thought  you’d  put  on  something  handsome  — to  go 
to  the  Graingers’.  And  where  are  your  jewels  ? You’ll 
find  the  women  there  loaded  with  ’em.” 

44  One  string  of  pearls  is  all  I care  to  wear,”  said  Honora 
— a reply  with  which  he  was  fain  to  be  content  until  they 
were  in  the  carriage,  when  she  added  : 44  Howard,  I must 
ask  you  as  a favour  not  to  talk  that  way  before  the  servants.” 

44  What  way  ? ” he  demanded. 

44  Oh,”  she  exclaimed,  44  if  you  don’t  know  I suppose  it 
is  impossible  to  explain.  You  wouldn’t  understand.” 


THE  PATH  OF  PHILANTHROPY 


309 


“ I understand  one  thing,  Honora,  that  you’re  too  con- 
foundedly clever  for  me,”  he  declared. 

Honora  did  not  reply.  For  at  that  moment  they  drew 
up  at  a carpet  stretched  across  the  pavement. 

Unlike  the  mansions  of  vast  and  imposing  fagades  that 
were  beginning  everywhere  to  catch  the  eye  on  Fifth 
Avenue,  and  that  followed  mostly  the  conti- 
nental styles  of  architecture,  the  house  of  the 
Cecil  Graingers  had  a substantial,  “middle 
of-the-eighties  f appearance.  It  stood  on  a 
corner,  with  a high  iron  fence  protecting  the 
area  around  it.  Within,  it  gave  one  an  idea 
of  space  that  the  exterior  strangely  belied ; 
and  it  was  furnished,  not  in  a French,  but  in 
what  might  be  called  a comfortably  English, 
manner.  It  was  filled,  Honora  saw,  with 
handsome  and  priceless  things  which  did  not 
immediately  and  aggressively  strike  the  eye, 
but  which  somehow  gave  the  impression  of 
having  always  been  there.  What  struck  her, 
as  she  sat  in  the  little  withdrawing  room 
while  the  maid  removed  her  overshoes,  was 
the  note  of  permanence. 

Some  of  those  who  were  present  at  Mrs. 

Grainger’s  that  evening  remember  her 
entrance  into  the  drawing-room.  Her 
gown,  the  colour  of  a rose-tinted  cloud, 
set  off  the  exceeding  whiteness  of  her 
neck  and  arms  and  vied  with  the 
crimson  in  her  cheeks,  and  the 
single  glistening  string  of 
pearls  about  the  slender  col-  < 
umn  of  her  neck  served  as 
a contrast  to  the  shadowy 
masses  of  her  hair.  Mr.  Reginald  Farwell,  who  was  there, 
afterwards  declared  that  she  seemed  to  have  stepped  out 
of  the  gentle  landscape  of  an  old  painting.  She  stood, 
indeed,  hesitating  for  a moment  in  the  doorway,  her  eyes 
softly  alight,  in  the  very  pose  of  expectancy  that  such  a 
picture  suggested. 


310 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


Honora  herself  was  almost  frightened  by  a sense  of 
augury,  of  triumph,  as  she  went  forward  to  greet  her 
hostess.  Conversation,  for  the  moment,  had  stopped. 
Cecil  Grainger,  with  the  air  of  one  who  had  pulled  aside 
the  curtain  and  revealed  this  vision  of  beauty  and  in- 
nocence, crossed  the  room  to  welcome  her.  And  Mrs. 
Grainger  herself  was  not  a little  surprised  ; she  was  not  a 
dramatic  person,  and  it  was  not  often  that  her  drawing- 
room was  the  scene  of  even  a mild  sensation.  No  entrance 
could  have  been  at  once  so  startling  and  so  unexception- 
able as  Honora’s. 

44  I was  sorry  not  to  find  you  when  I called,”  she  said. 

44  I was  sorry,  too,”  replied  Mrs.  Grainger,  regarding 
her  with  an  interest  that  was  undisguised,  and  a little  em- 
barrassing. 44  I’m  scarcely  ever  at  home,  except  when  I’m 
with  the  children.  Do  you  know  these  people?  ” 

44  I’m  not  sure,”  said  Honora,  44  but  — I must  introduce 
my  husband  to  you.” 

44  How  d’ye  do  ! ” said  Mr.  Grainger,  blinking  at  her 
when  this  ceremony  was  accomplished.  44  I’m  awfully 
glad  to  see  you,  Mrs.  Spence,  upon  my  word.” 

Honora  could  not  doubt  it.  But  he  had  little  time  to 
express  his  joy,  because  of  the  appearance  of  his  wife  at 
Honora’s  elbow  with  a tall  man  she  had  summoned  from  a 
corner. 

44  Before  we  go  to  dinner  I must  introduce  my  cousin, 
Mr.  Chiltern  — - he  is  to  have  the  pleasure  of  taking  you 
out,”  she  said. 

His  name  was  in  the  class  of  those  vaguely  familiar: 
vaguely  familiar,  too,  was  his  face.  An  extraordinary 
face,  Honora  thought,  glancing  at  it  as  she  took  his  arm, 
although  she  was  struck  by  something  less  tangible  than 
the  unusual  features.  He  might  have  belonged  to  any 
nationality  within  the  limits  of  the  Caucasian  race.  His 
short,  kinky,  black  hair  suggested  great  virility,  an 
effect  intensified  by  a strongly  bridged  nose,  sinewy 
hands,  and  bushy  eyebrows.  But  the  intangible  distinction 
was  in  the  eyes  that  looked  out  from  under  these  brows  : 
the  glimpse  she  had  of  them  as  he  bowed  to  her  gravely, 


THE  PATH  OF  PHILANTHROPY 


311 


might  be  likened  to  the  hasty  reading  of  a chance  page  in 
a forbidden  book.  Her  attention  was  arrested,  her  curi- 
osity aroused.  She  was  on  that  evening,  so  to  speak,  ex- 
posed for  and  sensitive  to  impressions.  She  was  on  the 
threshold  of  the  Alhambra. 

44  Hugh  has  such  a faculty,”  complained  Mr.  Grainger, 
44  of  turning  up  at  the  wrong  moment  ! ” 

Dinner  was  announced.  She  took  Chiltern’s  arm, 
and  they  fell  into  file  behind  a lady  in  yellow,  with  a 
long  train,  who  looked  at  her  rather  hard.  It  was  Mrs. 
Freddy  Maitland.  Her  glance  shifted  to  Chiltern,  and 
it  seemed  to  Honora  that  she  started  a little. 

44  Hello,  Hugh,”  she  said  indifferently,  looking  back  over 
her  shoulder  ; 44  have  you  turned  up  again  ? ” 

44  Still  sticking  to  the  same  side  of  your  horse,  I see.” 
he  replied,  ignoring  the  question.  44 1 told  you  you’d  get 
lop-sided.” 

The  deformity,  if  there  were  any,  did  not  seem  to 
trouble  her. 

44  I’m  going  to  Florida  Wednesday.  We  want  another 
man.  Think  it  over.” 

44  Sorry,  but  I’ve  got  something  else  to  do,”  he  said. 

44  The  devil  and  idle  hands,”  retorted  Mrs.  Maitland. 

Honora  was  sure  as  she  could  be  that  Chiltern  was  an- 
gry, although  he  gave  no  visible  sign  of  this.  It  was  as 
though  the  current  ran  from  his  arm  into  hers. 

44  Have  you  been  away  ? ” she  asked. 

44  It  seems  to  me  as  though  I had  never  been  anywhere 
else,”  he  answered,  and  he  glanced  curiously  at  the  guests 
ranging  about  the  great,  flower-laden  table.  They  sat 
down. 

She  was  a little  repelled,  a (little  piqued;  and  a little  re- 
lieved when  the  man  on  her  other  side  spoke  to  her,  and 
she  recognized  Mr.  Reginald  Farwell,  the  architect.  The 
table  capriciously  swung  that  way.  She  did  not  feel  pre- 
pared to  talk  to  Mr.  Chiltern.  And  before  entering  upon 
her  explorations  she  was  in  need  of  a guide.  She  could 
have  found  none  more  charming,  none  more  impersonal, 
none  more  subtly  aware  of  her  wants  (which  had  once 


312 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


been  his)  than  Mr.  Harwell.  With  his  hair  parted  with 
geometrical  precision  from  the  back  of  his  collar  to  his 
forehead,  with  his  silky  mustache  and  eyes  of  soft  hazel 
lights,  he  was  all  things  to  all  men  and  women  — within 
reason.  He  was  an  achievement  that  civilization  had  not 
hitherto  produced,  a combination  of  the  Beaux  Arts  and 
the  Jockey  Club  and  American  adaptability.  He  was  of 
those  upon  whom  labour  leaves  no  trace. 

There  were  preliminaries,  mutually  satisfactory.  To 
see  Mrs.  Spence  was  never  to  forget  her,  but  more  deli- 
cately intimated.  He  remembered  to  have  caught  a 
glimpse  of  her  at  the  Quicksands  Club,  and  Mrs.  Dallam 
nor  her  house  were  not  mentioned  by  either.  Honora 
could  not  have  been  in  New  York  long.  No,  it  was  her 
first  winter,  and  she  felt  like  a stranger.  Would  Mr. 
Farwell  tell  her  who  some  of  these  people  were?  Noth- 
ing charmed  Mr.  Farwell  so  much  as  simplicity  — when 
it  was  combined  with  personal  attractions.  He  did  not 
say  so,  but  contrived  to  intimate  the  former. 

“ It’s  always  difficult  when  one  first  comes  to  New  York,” 
he  declared,  “ but  it  soon  straightens  itself  out,  and  one 
is  surprised  at  how  few  people  there  are,  after  all. 
We’ll  begin  on  Cecil’s  right.  That’s  Mrs.  George 
Grenfell.” 

“ Oh,  yes,”  said  Honora,  looking  at  a tall,  thin  woman 
of  middle  age  who  wore  a tiara,  and  whose  throat  was  cov- 
ered with  jewels.  Honora  did  not  imply  that  Mrs.  Gren- 
fell’s name,  and  most  of  those  that  followed,  were  extremely 
familiar  to  her. 

“ In  my  opinion  she’s  got  the  best  garden  in  Newport, 
and  she  did  most  of  it  herself.  Next  to  her,  with  the  bald 
head,  is  Freddy  Maitland.  Next  to  him  is  Miss  Godfrey. 
She’s  a little  eccentric,  but  she  can  afford  to  be  — the  God- 
freys for  generations  have  done  so  much  for  the  city.  The 
man  with  the  beard,  next  her,  is  John  Laurens,  the  philan- 
thropist. That  pretty  woman,  who’s  just  as  nice  as  she 
looks,  is  Mrs.  Victor  Strange.  She  was  Agatha  Pendleton 
— Mrs.  Grainger’s  cousin.  And  the  gentleman  with  the 
pink  face,  whom  she  is  entertaining — ” 


THE  PATH  OF  PHILANTHROPY 


313 


44  Is  my  husband,”  said  Honora,  smiling.  44 1 know  some- 
thing about  him.” 

Mr.  Harwell  laughed.  He  admired  her  aplomb,  and  he 
did  not  himself  change  countenance.  Indeed,  the  incident 
seemed  rather  to  heighten  the  confidence  between  them. 
Honora  was  looking  rather  critically  at  Howard.  It  was 
a fact  that  his  face  did  grow  red  at  this  stage  of  a dinner, 
and  she  wondered  what  Mrs.  Strange  found  to  talk  to  him 
about. 

44  And  the  woman  on  the  other  side  of  him  ? ” she  asked. 
44  By  the  way,  she  has  a red  face,  too.” 

44  So  she  has,”  he  replied  amusedly.  44  That  is  Mrs. 
Littleton  Pryor,  the  greatest  living  rebuke  to  the  modern 
woman.  Most  of  those  jewels  are  inherited,  but  she  has 
accustomed  herself  by  long  practice  to  carry  them,  as  well 
as  other  burdens.  She  has  eight  children,  and  she’s  on 
every  charity  list.  Her  ancestors  were  the  very  roots  of 
Manhattan.  She  looks  like  a Holbein  — doesn’t  she  ? ” 

44  And  the  extraordinary  looking  man  on  my  right  ? ” 
Honora  asked.  44 I’ve  got  to  talk  to  him  presently.” 

44  Chiltern  ! ” he  said.  44  Is  it  possible  you  haven’t  heard 
something  about  Hugh  Chiltern  ? ” 

44  Is  it  such  lamentable  ignorance  ? ” she  asked. 

44  That  depends  upon  one’s  point  of  view,”  he  replied. 
44He’s  always  been  a sort  of  a — well,  Viking,”  said  Far- 
well. 

Honora  was  struck  by  the  appropriateness  of  the  word. 
44  Viking  — yes,  he  looks  it  exactly.  I couldn’t  think. 
Tell  me  something  about  him.” 

44  Well,”  he  laughed,  lowering  his  voice  a little,  44  here 
goes  for  a little  rough  and  ready  editing.  One  thing 
about  Chiltern  that’s  to  be  admired  is  that  he’s  never  cared 
a rap  what  people  think.  Of  course,  in  a way,  he  never 
had  to.  His  family  own  a section  of  the  state,  where 
they’ve  had  woollen  mills  for  a hundred  years,  more  or  less. 
I believe  Hugh  Chiltern  has  sold  ’em,  or  they’ve  gone  into 
a trust,  or  something,  but  the  estate  is  still  there,  at  Greno- 
ble — one  of  the  most  beautiful  places  I’ve  ever  seen. 
The  General  — this  man’s  father  — was  a violent,  dictato- 


314 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


rial  man.  There  is  a story  about  his  taking  a battery  at 
Gettysburg  which  is  almost  incredible.  But  he  went 
back  to  Grenoble  after  the  war,  and  became  the  typical 
public-spirited  citizen ; built  up  the  mills  which  his  own 
pioneer  grandfather  had  founded,  and  all  that.  He  mar- 
ried an  aunt  of  Mrs.  Grainger’s,  - — one  of  those  delicate, 
gentlewomen  who  never  dare  to  call  their  soul  their  own.” 

“ And  then  ? ” prompted  Honora,  with  interest. 

“ It’s  only  fair  to  Hugh,”  Far  well  continued,  “to  take 
his  early  years  into  account.  The  General  never  under- 
stood him,  and  his  mother  died  before  he  went  off  to 
school.  Men  who  were  at  Harvard  with  him  say  he  has  a 
brilliant  mind,  but  he  spent  most  of  his  time  across  the 
Charles  River  breaking  things.  It  was,  probably,  the 
energy  the  General  got  rid  of  at  Gettysburg.  What  Hugh 
really  needed  was  a war,  and  he  had  too  much  money. 
He  has  a curious  literary  streak,  I’m  told,  and  wrote  a 
rather  remarkable  article  — I’ve  forgotten  just  where  it 
appeared.  He  raced  a yacht  for  a while  in  a dare-devil, 
fiendish  way,  as  one  might  expect;  and  used  to  go  off  on 
cruises  and  not  be  heard  of  for  months.  At  last  he  got 
engaged  to  Sally  Harrington — Mrs.  Freddy  Maitland.” 

Honora  glanced  across  the  table. 

“ Exactly,”  said  Mr.  Farwell.  “ That  was  seven  or  eight 
years  ago.  Nobody  ever  knew  the  reason  why  she  broke 
it  — though  it  may  have  been  pretty  closely  guessed.  He 
went  away,  and  nobody’s  laid  eyes  on  him  until  he  turned 
up  to-night.” 

Honora’s  innocence  was  not  too  great  to  enable  her  to 
read  between  the  lines  of  this  biography  which  Reginald 
Farwell  had  related  with  such  praiseworthy  delicacy.  It 
was  a biography,  she  well  knew,  that,  like  a score  of  others, 
had  been  guarded  as  jealously  as  possible  within  the  circle 
on  the  borders  of  which  she  now  found  herself.  Mrs. 
Grainger  with  her  charities,  Mrs.  Littleton  Pryor  with  her 
good  works,  Miss  Godfrey  with  her  virtue  — all  swallowed 
it  as  gracefully  as  possible.  Noblesse  oblige.  Honora  had 
read  French  and  English  memoirs,  and  knew  that  history 
repeats  itself.  And  a biography  that  is  printed  in  black 


THE  PATH  OF  PHILANTHROPY 


315 


letter  and  illuminated  in  gold  is  attractive  in  spite  of  its 
contents.  The  contents,  indeed,  our  heroine  had  not  found 
uninteresting,  and  she  turned  now  to  the  subject  with  a 
flutter  of  anticipation. 

He  looked  at  her  intently,  almost  boldly,  she  thought, 
and  before  she  dropped  her  eyes  she  had  made  a discovery. 
The  thing  stamped  upon  his  face  and  burning  in  his  eyes 
was  not  world-weariness,  disappointment,  despair.  She 
could  not  tell  what  it  was,  yet ; that  it  was  none  of  these, 
she  knew.  It  was  not  unrelated  to  experience,  but  tran- 
scended it.  There  was  an  element  of  purpose  in  it,  of  de- 
termination, almost  — f she  would  have  believed  — of  hope. 
That  Mrs.  Maitland  nor  any  other  woman  was  a part  of  it 
she  became  equally  sure.  Nothing  could  have  been  more 
commonplace  than  the  conversation  which  began,  and  yet 
it  held  for  her,  between  the  lines  as  in  the  biography,  the 
thrill  of  interest.  She  was  a woman,  and  embarked  on  a 
voyage  of  discovery. 

“ Do  you  live  in  New  York  ? ” he  asked. 

“Yes,”  said  Honora,  “since  this  autumn.” 

“ I’ve  been  away  a good  many  years,”  he  said,  in  expla- 
nation of  his  question.  “ I haven’t  quite  got  my  bearings. 
I can’t  tell  you  how  queerly  this  sort  of  thing  affects  me.” 
“You  mean  civilization?”  she  hazarded. 

“Yes.  And  yet  I’ve  come  back  to  it.” 

Of  course  she  did  not  ask  him  why.  Their  talk  was 
like  the  starting  of  a heavy  train  — a series  of  jerks  ; and 
yet  both  were  aware  of  an  irresistible  forward  traction. 
She  had  not  recovered  from  her  surprise  in  finding  herself 
already  so  far  in  his  confidence. 

“ And  the  time  will  come,  I suppose,  when  you’ll  long 
to  get  away  again.” 

“No,”  he  said,  “I’ve  come  back  to  stay.  It’s  taken  me 
a long  while  to  learn  it,  but  there’s  only  one  place  for  a 
man,  and  that’s  his  own  country.” 

Her  eyes  lighted. 

“There’s  always  so  much  for  a man  to  do.” 

“ What  would  you  do  ? ” he  asked  curiously. 

She  considered  this. 


316 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


44  If  you  had  asked  me  that  question  two  years  ago  — • 
even  a }^ear  ago  — I should  have  given  you  a different  an- 
swer. It’s  taken  me  some  time  to  learn  it,  too,  you  see, 
and  I’m  not  a man.  I once  thought  I should  have  liked 
to  have  been  a king  amongst  money  changers,  and  own 
railroad  and  steamship  lines,  and  dominate  men  by  sheer 
power.” 

He  was  clearly  interested. 

44  And  now  ? ” he  prompted  her. 

She  laughed  a little,  to  relieve  the  tension. 

44  W ell  — I’ve  found  out  that  there  are  some  men  that 
kind  of  power  can’t  control  — the  best  kind.  And  I’ve 
found  out  that  that  isn’t  the  best  kind  of  power.  It  seems 
to  be  a brutal,  barbarous  cunning  power  now  that  I’ve  seen 
it  at  close  range.  There’s  another  kind  that  springs 
from  a man  himself,  that  speaks  through  his  works  and 
acts,  that  influences  first  those  around  him,  and  then  his 
community,  convincing  people  of  their  own  folly,  and  that 
finally  spreads  in  ever  widening  circles  to  those  whom  he 
cannot  see,  and  never  will  see.” 

She  paused,  breathing  deeply,  a little  frightened  at  her 
own  eloquence.  Something  told  her  that  she  was  not  only 
addressing  her  own  soul  — she  was  speaking  to  his. 

44  I’m  afraid  you’ll  think  I’m  preaching,”  she  apologized. 

“No,”  he  said  impatiently,  “no.” 

“ To  answer  your  question,  then,  if  I were  a man  of  in- 
dependent means,  I think  I should  go  into  politics.  And 
I should  put  on  my  first  campaign  banner  the  words,  4 No 
Compromise.’  ” 

It  was  a little  strange  that,  until  now  — to-night  — she 
had  not  definitely  formulated  these  ambitions.  The  idea 
of  the  banner  with  its  inscription  had  come  as  an  inspi- 
ration. He  did  not  answer,  but  sat  regarding  her,  drum- 
ming on  the  cloth  with  his  strong,  brown  fingers. 

44 1 have  learned  this  much  in  New  York,”  she  said,  car- 
ried on  by  her  impetus,  44  that  men  and  women  are  like 
plants.  To  be  useful,  and  to  grow  properly,  they  must  be 
firmly  rooted  in  their  own  soil.  This  city  seems  to  me 
like  a luxurious,  overgrown  hothouse.  Of  course,” 


THE  PATH  OF  PHILANTHROPY 


317 


she  added  hastily,  “ there  are  many  people  who  belong 
here,  and  whose  best  work  is  done  here.  I was  thinking 
about  those  whom  it  attracts.  And  I have  seen  so  many 
who  are  only  watered  and  fed  and  warmed,  and  who  be- 
come — distorted.” 

“ It’s  extraordinary,”  replied  Chiltern,  slowly,  “ that  you 
should  say  this  to  me.  It  is  what  I have  come  to  believe, 
but  I couldn’t  have  said  it  half  so  well.” 

Mrs.  Grainger  gave  the  signal  to  rise.  Honora  took 
Chiltern’s  arm,  and  he  led  her  back  to  the  drawing-room. 
She  was  standing  alone  by  the  fire  when  Mrs.  Maitland 
approached  her. 

“ Haven’t  I seen  you  before  ? ” she  asked. 


\ 


CHAPTER  III 

VINELAND 

It  was  a pleasant  Newport  to  which  Honora  went  early 
in  June,  a fair  city  shining  in  the  midst  of  summer  seas,  a 
place  to  light  the  fires  of  imagination.  It  wore  at  once 
an  air  of  age,  and  of  a new  and  sparkling  unreality. 
Honora  found  in  the  very  atmosphere  a certain  magic 
which  she  did  not  try  to  define,  hut  to  the  enjoyment  of 
which  she  abandoned  herself;  and  in  those  first  days  after 
her  arrival  she  took  a sheer  delight  in  driving  about  the 
island.  Narrow  Thames  Street,  crowded  with  gay  car- 
riages, with  its  aspect  of  the  eighteenth  and  it  shops  of 
the  twentieth  century;  the  whiffs  of  the  sea;  Bellevue 
Avenue,  with  its  glorious  serried  ranks  of  trees,  its  erring 
perfumes  from  bright  gardens,  its  massed  flowering  shrubs 
beckoning  the  eye,  its  lawns  of  a truly  enchanted  green. 
Through  tree  and  hedge,  as  she  drove,  came  ever  changing 
glimpses  of  gleaming  palace  fronts ; glimpses  that  made 
her  turn  and  look  again  ; that  stimulated  but  did  not  sat- 
isfy, and  left  a pleasant  longing  for  something  on  the 
seeming  verge  of  fulfilment. 

The  very  stillness  and  solitude  that  seemed  to  envelop 
these  palaces  suggested  the  enchanter’s  wand.  T o-m  orrow, 
perhaps,  the  perfect  lawns  where  the  robins  hopped  amidst 
the  shrubbery  would  become  again  the  rock-bound,  wind- 
swept New  England  pasture  above  the  sea,  and  scream- 
ing gulls  circle  where  now  the  swallows  hovered  about 
the  steep  blue  roof  of  a French  chateau.  Hundreds  of 
years  hence,  would  these  great  pleasure  houses  still  be 
standing  behind  their  screens  and  walls  and  hedges  ? or 
would,  indeed,  the  shattered,  vine-covered  marble  of  a 
balustrade  alone  mark  the  crumbling  terraces  whence 

318 


VINELAND 


319 


once  the  fabled  owners  scanned  the  sparkling  waters  of 
the  ocean  ? Who  could  say  ? 

The  onward  rush  of  our  story  between  its  canon  walls 
compels  us  reluctantly  to  skip  the  narrative  of  the  winter 
conquests  of  the  lady  who  is  our  heroine.  Popularity  had 
not  spoiled  her,  and  the  best  proof  of  this  lay  in  the  com- 
ments of  a world  that  is  nothing  if  not  critical.  No 
beauty  could  have  received  with  more  modesty  the  tri- 
umph which  had  greeted  her  at  Mrs.  Grenfell’s  tableaux,  in 
April,  when  she  had  appeared  as  Circe,  in  an  architectural 
frame  especially  designed  by  Mr.  Far  well  himself.  There 
had  been  a moment  of  hushed  astonishment,  followed  by 
an  acclaim  that  sent  the  curtain  up  twice  again. 

We  must  try  to  imagine,  too,  the  logical  continuation 
of  that  triumph  in  the  Bake  of  our  modern  republic  and 
empire,  Newport.  Open,  Sesame  ! seems,  as  ever,  to  be 
the  countersign  of  her  life.  Even  the  palace  gates  swung 
wide  to  her:  most  of  them  with  the  more  readiness  be- 
cause she  had  already  passed  through  other  gates — Mrs. 
Grainger’s,  for  instance.  Baise,  apparently,  is  a topsy- 
turvy world  in  which,  if  one  alights  upside  down,  it  is 
difficult  to  become  righted.  To  alight  upside  down,  is  to 
alight  in  a palace.  The  Graingers  did  not  live  in  one, 
but  in  a garden  that  existed  before  the  palaces  were,  and 
one  that  the  palace  owners  could  not  copy  .*  a garden 
that  three  generations  of  Graingers,  somewhat  assisted  by 
a remarkable  climate,  had  made  with  loving  care.  The 
box  was  priceless,  the  spreading  trees  in  the  miniature 
park  no  less  so,  and  time,  the  unbribeable,  alone  could 
now  have  produced  the  wide,  carefully  cherished  Vic- 
torian mansion.  Likewise  not  purchasable  by  California 
gold  was  a grandfather  whose  name  had  been  written 
large  in  the  pages  of  American  history.  His  library 
was  now  lined  with  English  sporting  prints  ; but  these, 
too,  were  old  and  mellow  and  rare. 

To  reach  Honora’s  cottage,  you  turned  away  from  the 
pomp  and  glitter  and  noise  of  Bellevue  A venue  into  the 
inviting  tunnel  of  a leafy  lane  that  presently  stopped  of 
itself.  As  though  to  provide  against  the  contingency  of 


320 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


a stray  excursionist,  a purple-plumed  guard  of  old  lilac 
trees  massed  themselves  before  the  house,  and  seemed  to 
look  down  with  contempt  on  the  new  brick  wall  across  the 
lane.  Odi  profanum  vulgus.  It  was  on  account  of  the 
new  brick  wall,  in  fact,  that  Honora,  through  the  inter- 
vention of  Mrs.  Grainger  and  Mrs.  Shorter,  had  been  able 
to  obtain  this  most  desirable  of  retreats,  which  belonged 
to  a great-aunt  of  Miss  Godfrey,  Mrs.  Forsythe. 

Mr.  Chamberlin,  none  other  than  he  of  whom  we 
caught  a glimpse  some  years  ago  in  a castle  near  Silver- 
dale,  owned  the  wall  and  the  grounds  and  the  palace  it 
enclosed.  This  gentleman  was  of  those  who  arrive  in 
Newport  upside  down ; and  was  even  now,  with  the  some- 
what doubtful  assistance  of  his  wife,  making  lavish  and 
pathetic  attempts  to  right  himself.  Newport  had  never 
forgiven  him  for  the  razing  of  a mansion  and  the  felling  of 
trees  which  had  been  landmarks,  and  for  the  driving  out 
of  Mrs.  Forsythe.  The  mere  sight  of  the  modern  wall 
had  been  too  much  for  this  lady  — the  lilacs  and  the 
leaves  in  the  lane  mercifully  hid  the  palace  — and  after 
five  and  thirty  peaceful  summers  she  had  moved  out,  and 
let  the  cottage.  It  was  furnished  with  delightful  old- 
fashioned  things  that  seemed  to  express,  at  every  turn, 
the  aristocratic  and  uncompromising  personality  of  the 
owner  who  had  lived  so  long  in  their  midst. 

Mr.  Chamberlin,  who  has  nothing  whatever  to  do  with 
this  chronicle  except  to  have  been  the  indirect  means  of 
Honora’s  installation,  used  to  come  through  the  wall  once 
a week  or  so  to  sit  for  half  an  hour  on  her  porch  — 
as  long  as  he  ever  sat  anywhere.  He  had  reddish  side- 
whiskers,  and  he  reminded  her  of  a buzzing  toy  locomotive 
wound  up  tight  and  suddenly  taken  from  the  floor.  She 
caught  glimpses  of  him  sometimes  in  the  mornings  buzzing 
around  his  gardeners,  his  painters,  his  carpenters,  and  his 
grooms.  He  would  buzz  the  rest  of  his  life,  but  nothing 
short  of  a revolution  could  take  his  possessions  away. 

The  Graingers  and  the  Grenfells  and  the  Stranges 
might  move  mountains,  but  not  Mr.  Chamberlin’s  house. 
Whatever  heartburnings  he  may  have  had  because  cer- 


VINELAND 


321 


tain  people  refused  to  come  to  his  balls,  he  was  in  New- 
port to  remain.  He  would  sit  under  the  battlements  un- 
til the  crack  of  doom  ; or  rather  — and  more  appropriate 
in  Mr.  Chamberlin’s  case  — walk  around  them  and  around, 
blowing  trumpets  until  they  capitulated. 

Honora  magically  found  herself  within  them,  and 
without  a siege.  Behold  her  at  last  in  the  setting  for 
which  we  always  felt  she  was  destined.  Why  is  it,  in 
this  world,  that  realization  is  so  difficult  a thing?  Now 
that  she  is  there,  how  shall  we  proceed  to  give  the  joys 
of  her  Elysium  their  full  value?  Not,  certainly,  by 
repeating  the  word  pleasure  over  and  over  again  : not  by 
describing  the  palaces  at  which  she  lunched  and  danced 
and  dined,  or  the  bright  waters  in  which  she  bathed,  or 
the  yachts  in  which  she  sailed.  During  the  week,  indeed, 
she  moved  untrammelled  in  a world  with  which  she  found 
herself  in  perfect  harmony : it  was  new,  it  was  dazzling, 
it  was  unexplored.  During  the  week  it  possessed  still 
another  and  more  valuable  attribute  — it  was  real.  And 
she,  Honora  Leffingwell  Spence,  was  part  and  parcel  of  its 
permanence.  The  life  relationships  of  the  people  by 
whom  she  was  surrounded  became  her  own.  She  had 
little  time  for  thought  — during  the  week. 

We  are  dealing,  now,  in  emotions  as  delicate  as  cloud 
shadows,  and  these  drew  on  as  Saturday  approached. 
On  Saturdays  and  Sundays  the  quality  and  texture  of  life 
seemed  to  undergo  a change.  Who  does  not  recall  the 
Monday  mornings  of  the  school  days  of  youth,  and  the 
indefinite  feeling  betwixt  sleep  and  waking  that  to-day 
would  not  be  as  yesterday  or  the  day  before  ? On  Satur- 
day mornings,  when  she  went  downstairs,  she  was  wont 
to  find  the  porch  littered  with  newspapers  and  her  hus- 
band lounging  in  a wicker  chair  behind  the  disapproving 
lilacs.  Although  they  had  long  ceased  to  bloom,  their 
colour  was  purple  — his  was  pink. 

Honora  did  not  at  first  analyze  or  define  these  emotions, 
and  was  conscious  only  of  a stirring  within  her,  and  a 
change.  Reality  became  unreality.  The  house  in  which 
she  lived,  and  for  which  she  felt  a passion  of  ownership, 


322 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


was  for  two  days  a rented  house.  Other  women  in  New- 
port had  week-end  guests  in  the  guise  of  husbands,  and 
some  of  them  went  so  far  as  to  bewail  the  fact.  Some 
had  got  rid  of  them.  Honora  kissed  hers  dutifully,  and 
picked  up  the  newspapers,  drove  him  to  the  beach,  and 
took  him  out  to  dinner,  where  he  talked  oracularly  of 
finance.  On  Sunday  night  he  departed,  without  visible 
regrets,  for  New  York. 

One  Monday  morning  a storm  was  raging  over  Newport. 
Seized  by  a sudden  whim,  she  rang  her  bell,  breakfasted 
at  an  unusual  hour,  and  nine  o’clock  found  her,  with  her 


skirts  flying,  on  the  road  above  the  cliffs  that  leads  to  the 
Fort.  The  wind  had  increased  to  a gale,  and  as  she  stood 
on  the  rocks  the  harbour  below  her  was  full  of  tossing 
white  yachts  straining  at  their  anchors.  Serene  in  the 
midst  of  all  this  hubbub  lay  a great  grey  battleship. 

Presently,  however,  her  thoughts  were  distracted  * by 
the  sight  of  something  moving  rapidly  across  her  line  of 
vision.  A sloop  yacht,  with  a ridiculously  shortened  sail, 
was  coming  in  from  the  Narrows,  scudding  before  the 
wind  like  a frightened  bird.  She  watched  its  approach 
in  a sort  of  fascination,  for  of  late  she  had  been  upon  the 


VINELAND 


323 


water  enough  to  realize  that  the  feat  of  which  she  was  wit- 
ness was  not  without  its  difficulties.  As  the  sloop  drew 
nearer  she  made  out  a bare-headed  figure  bent  tensely  at 
the  wheel,  and  four  others  clinging  to  the  yellow  deck. 
In  a flash  the  boat  had  rounded  to,  the  mainsail  fell, 
and  a veil  of  spray  hid  the  actors  of  her  drama.  When 
it  cleared  the  yacht  was  tugging  like  a wild  thing  at 
its  anchor. 

That  night  was  Mrs.  Grenfell’s  ball,  and  man y times  in 
later  years  has  the  scene  come  back  to  Honora.  It  was  not 
a large  ball,  by  no  means  on  the  scale  of  Mr.  Chamberlin’s, 
for  instance.  The  great  room  reminded  one  of  the  gal- 
lery of  a royal  French  chateau,  with  its  dished  ceiling,  in 
the  oval  of  which  the  colours  of  a pastoral  fresco  glowed 
in  the  ruby  lights  of  the  heavy  chandeliers;  its  grey  panel- 
ling, hidden  here  and  there  by  tapestries,  and  its  series  of 
deep,  arched  windows  that  gave  glimpses  of  a lantern-hung 
terrace.  Out  there,  beyond  a marble  balustrade,  the  lights 
of  fishing  schooners  tossed  on  a blue-black  ocean.  The 
same  ocean  on  which  she  had  looked  that  morning,  and 
which  she  heard  now,  in  the  intervals  of  talk  and  laughter, 
crashing  against  the  cliffs,  — although  the  wind  had  gone 
down.  Like  a woman  stirred  to  the  depths  of  her  being, 
its  bosom  was  heaving  still  at  the  memory  of  the  passion 
of  the  morning. 

This  night  after  the  storm  was  capriciously  mild,  the 
velvet  gown  of  heaven  sewn  with  stars.  The  music  had 
ceased,  and  supper  was  being  served  at  little  tables  on  the 
terrace.  The  conversation  was  desultory. 

“Who  is  that  with  Reggie  Farwell?”  Ethel  Wing 
asked. 

“It’s  the  Farrenden  girl,”  replied  Mr.  Cuthbert,  whose 
business  it  was  to  know  everybody.  “ Chicago  wheat. 
She  looks  like  Ceres,  doesn’t  she  ? Quite  becoming  to 
Reggie’s  dark  beauty.  She  was  sixteen,  they  tell  me, 
when  the  old  gentleman  emerged  from  the  pit,  and  they 
packed  her  off  to  a convent  by  the  next  steamer.  Reggie 
may  have  the  blissful  experience  of  living  in  one  of  his  own 
houses  if  he  marries  her.” 


324 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


The  fourth  at  the  table  was  Ned  Carrington,  who  had 
been  first  secretary  at  an  Embassy,  and  he  had  many 
stories  to  tell  of  ambassadors  wdio  spoke  commercial 
American  and  asked  royalties  after  their  wives.  Some 
one  had  said  about  him  that  he  was  the  only  edition  of  the 
Almanach  de  Gotha  that  included  the  United  States.  He 
somewhat  resembled  a golden  seal  emerging  from  a cold 
bath,  and  from  time  to  time  screwed  an  eyeglass  into  his 
eye  and  made  a careful  survey  of  Mrs.  Grenfell’s  guests. 

44  By  George  ! ” he  exclaimed.  44  Isn’t  that  Hugh  Chil- 
tern  ? ” 

Honora  started,  and  followed  the  direction  of  Mr.  Car- 
rington’s glance.  At  sight  of  him,  a vivid  memory  of  the 
man’s  personality  possessed  her. 

44  Yes,”  Cuthbert  was  saying,  44  that’s  Chiltern  sure 
enough.  He  came  in  on  Dicky  Farnham’s  yacht  this 
morning  from  New  York.” 

44  This  morning  ! ” said  Ethel  Wing.  44  Surely  not ! 
No  yacht  could  have  come  in  this  morning.” 

44  Nobody  but  Chiltern  would  have  brought  one  in,  you 
mean,”  he  corrected  her.  44  He  sailed  her.  They  say 
Dicky  was  half  dead  with  fright,  and  wanted  to  put  in 
anywhere.  Chiltern  sent  him  below  and  kept  right  on. 
He  has  a devil  in  him,  I believe.  By  the  way,  that’s 
Dicky  Farnham’s  ex-wife  he’s  talking  to  — Adele.  She 
keeps  her  good  looks,  doesn’t  she  ? What’s  happened  to 
Rindge  ? ” 

44  Left  him  on  the  other  side,  I hear,”  said  Carrington. 
44  Perhaps  she’ll  take  Chiltern  next.  She  looked  as  though 
she  were  ready  to.  And  they  say  it’s  easier  every  time.” 

44  C’est  le  second  mari  qui  coute,”  paraphrased  Cuthbert, 
tossing  his  cigar  over  the  balustrade.  The  strains  of  a 
waltz  floated  out  of  the  windows,  the  groups  at  the  tables 
broke  up,  and  the  cotillon  began. 

As  Honora  danced,  Chiltern  remained  in  the  back  of  her 
mind,  or  rather  an  indefinite  impression  was  there  which 
in  flashes  she  connected  with  him.  She  wondered,  at 
times,  what  had  become  of  him,  and  once  or  twice  she 
caught  herself  scanning  the  bewildering,  shifting  sheen  of 


VINELAND 


325 


gowns  and  jewels  for  his  face.  At  last  she  saw  him  by 
the  windows,  holding  a favour  in  his  hand,  coming  in  her 
direction.  She  looked  away,  towards  the  red  uniforms  of 
the  Hungarian  band  on  the  raised  platform  at  the  end  of 
the  room.  He  was  standing  beside  her. 

“ Do  you  remember  me,  Mrs.  Spence  ? ” he  asked. 

She  glanced  up  at  him  and  smiled.  He  was  not  a person 
one  would  be  likely  to  forget,  but  she  did  not  say  so. 

“ I met  you  at  Mrs.  Grainger’s,”  was  what  she  said. 

He  handed  her  the  favour.  She  placed  it  amongst  the 
collection  at  the  back  of  her  chair  and  rose,  and  they 
danced.  Was  it  dancing?  The  music  throbbed;  nay, 
the  musicians  seemed  suddenly  to  have  been  carried  out 
of  themselves,  and  played  as  they  had  not  played  before. 
Her  veins  were  filled  with  pulsing  fire  as  she  was  swung, 
guided,  carried  out  of  herself  by  the  extraordinary  virility 
of  the  man  who  held  her.  She  had  tasted  mastery. 

“Thank  you,”  she  faltered,  as  they  came  around  the 
second  time  to  her  seat. 

He  released  her. 

“ I stayed  to  dance  with  you,”  he  said.  “ I had  to 
await  my  opportunit}^” 

“ It  was  kind  of  you  to  remember  me,”  she  replied,  as 
she  went  off  with  Mr.  Carrington. 

A moment  later  she  saw  him  bidding  good  night  to  his 
hostess.  His  face,  she  thought,  had  not  lost  that  strange 
look  of  determination  that  she  recalled.  And  yet  — how 
account  for  his  recklessness  ? 

“ Rum  chap,  Chiltern,”  remarked  Carrington.  “ He 
might  be  almost  anything,  if  he  only  knew  it.” 

In  the  morning,  when  she  awoke,  her  eye  fell  on  the 
cotillon  favours  scattered  over  the  lounge.  One  amongst 
them  stood  out  — a silver-mounted  pin-cushion.  Honora 
arose,  picked  it  up  contemplatively,  stared  at  it  awhile,  and 
smiled.  Then  she  turned  to  her  window,  breathing  in  the 
perfumes,  gazing  out  through  the  horse-chestnut  leaves 
at  the  green,  shadow-dappled  lawn  below. 

On  her  breakfast  tray,  amidst  some  invitations,  was  a 
letter  from  her  uncle.  This  she  opened  first. 


326 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


“ Dear  Honora,”  he  wrote,  “ amongst  your  father’s  pa- 
pers, which  have  been  in  my  possession  since  his  death, 
was  a certificate  for  three  hundred  shares  in  a land  com- 
pany. He  bought  them  for  very  little,  and  I had  always 
thought  them  worthless.  It  turns  out  that  these  holdings 
are  in  a part  of  the  state  of  Texas  that  is  now  being  de- 
veloped; on  the  advice  of  Mr.  Ishamand  others  I have  ac- 
cepted an  offer  of  thirty  dollars  a share,  and  I enclose  a 
draft  on  New  York  for  nine  thousand  dollars.  I need  not 
dwell  upon  the  pleasure  it  is  for  me  to  send  you  this  leg- 
acy from  your  father.  And  I shall  only  add  the  counsel 
of  an  old  uncle,  to  invest  this  money  by  your  husband’s 
advice  in  some  safe  securities.”  ... 

Honora  put  down  the  letter,  and  sat  staring  at  the 
cheque  in  her  hand.  Nine  thousand  dollars — and  her 
own  ! Her  first  impulse  was  to  send  it  back  to  her  uncle. 
But  that  would  be,  she  knew,  to  hurt  his  feelings  — he  had 
taken  such  a pride  in  handing  her  this  inheritance.  She 
read  the  letter  again,  and  resolved  that  she  would  not  ask 
Howard  to  invest  the  money.  This,  at  least,  should  be 
her  very  own,  and  she  made  up  her  mind  to  take  it  to  a 
bank  in  Thames  Street  that  morning. 

While  she  was  still  under  the  influence  of  the  excite- 
ment aroused  by  the  unexpected  legacy,  Mrs.  Shorter 
came  in,  a lady  with  whom  Honora’s  intimacy  had  been  of 
steady  growth.  The  tie  between  them  might  perhaps 
have  been  described  as  intellectual,  for  Elsie  Shorter  pro- 
fessed only  to  like  people  who  were  “worth  while.”  She 
lent  Honora  French  plays,  discussed  them  with  her,  and 
likewise  a wider  range  of  literature,  including  certain 
brightly  bound  books  on  evolution  and  sociology. 

In  the  eighteenth  century,  Mrs.  Shorter  would  have  had 
a title  and  a salon  in  the  Faubourg:  in  the  twentieth,  she 
was  the  wife  of  a most  fashionable  and  successful  real 
estate  agent  in  New  York,  and  was  aware  of  no  incon- 
gruity. Bourgeoise  was  the  last  thing  that  could  be  said 
of  her  ; she  was  as  ready  as  a George  Sand  to  discuss 
the  whole  range  of  human  emotions  ; which  she  did 
many  times  a week  with  certain  gentlemen  of  intellectual 


VINELAND 


327 


bent  who  had  the  habit  of  calling  on  her.  She  had  never, 
to  the  knowledge  of  her  acquaintances,  been  shocked. 
But  while  she  believed  that  a great  love  carried,  myste- 
riously concealed  in  its  flame,  its  own  pardon,  she  had 
through  some  fifteen  years  of  married  life  remained  faith- 
ful to  Jerry  Shorter  : who  was  not,  to  say  the  least,  a 
Lochinvar  or  a Roland.  Although  she  had  had  nervous 
prostration  and  was  thirty-four,  she  was  undeniably 
pretty.  She  was  of  the  suggestive,  and  not  the  strong- 
minded  type,  and  the  secret  of  her  strength  with  the  other 
sex  was  that  she  was  in  the  habit  of  submitting  her 
opinions  for  their  approval. 

“ My  dear,”  she  said  to  Honora,  “ you  may  thank  heaven 
that  you  are  still  young  enough  to  look  beautiful  in  negli- 
gee. How  far  have  you  got  ? Have  you  guessed  of  which 
woman  Vivarce  was  the  lover  ? And  isn’t  it  the  most  ex- 
citing play  you’ve  ever  read  ? Ned  Carrington  saw  it  in 
Paris,  and  declares  it  frightened  him  into  being  good  for 
a whole  week  ! ” 

“ Oh,  Elsie,”  exclaimed  Honora,  apologetically,  “ I 
haven’t  read  a word  of  it.” 

Mrs.  Shorter  glanced  at  the  pile  of  favours. 

“ How  was  the  dance  ? ” she  asked.  “ I was  too  tired 
to  go.  Hugh  Chiltern  offered  to  take  me.” 

“ I saw  Mr.  Chiltern  there.  I met  him  last  winter  at 
the  Graingers’.” 

“ He’s  staying  with  us,”  said  Mrs.  Shorter;  “ you  know 
he’s  a sort  of  cousin  of  Jerry’s,  and  devoted  to  him.  He 
turned  up  yesterday  morning  on  Dicky  Farnham’s  yacht, 
in  the  midst  of  all  that  storm.  It  appears  that  Dicky  met 
him  in  New  York,  and  Hugh  said  he  was  coming  up  here, 
and  Dicky  offered  to  sail  him  up.  When  the  storm  broke 
they  were  just  outside,  and  all  on  board  lost  their  heads, 
and  Hugh  took  charge  and  sailed  in.  Dicky  told  me  that 
himself.” 

“Then  it  wasn’t  — recklessness,”  said  Honora,  involun- 
tarily. But  Mrs.  Shorter  did  not  appear  to  be  surprised 
by  the  remark. 

“ That’s  what  everybody  thinks,  of  course,”  she  answered. 


328 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


44  They  say  that  he  had  a chance  to  run  in  somewhere,  and 
browbeat  Dicky  into  keeping  on  for  Newport  at  the  risk  of 
their  lives.  They  do  Hugh  an  injustice.  He  might  have 
done  that  some  years  ago,  but  he’s  changed.” 

Curiosity  got  the  better  of  Honora. 

“ Changed  ? ” she  repeated. 

44  Of  course  you  didn’t  know  him  in  the  old  days,  Ho- 
nora,” said  Mrs.  Shorter.  “You  wouldn’t  recognize  him 
now.  I’ve  seen  a good  deal  of  men,  but  he  is  the  most  in- 
teresting and  astounding  transformation  I’ve  ever  known.” 

“ How  ? ” asked  Honora.  She  was  sitting  before  the 
glass,  with  her  hand  raised  to  her  hair. 

Mrs.  Shorter  appeared  puzzled. 

“ That’s  what  interests  me,”  she  said.  “ My  dear,  don’t 
you  think  life  tremendously  interesting  ? I do.  I wish 
I could  write  a novel.  Between  ourselves,  I’ve  tried.  I 
had  Mr.  Deming  send  it  to  a publisher,  who  said  it  was 
clever,  but  had  no  plot.  If  I only  could  get  a plot ! ” 

Honora  laughed. 

“ How  would  4 The  Transformation  of  Mr.  Chiltern  ’ do, 
Elsie?” 

“If  I only  knew  what’s  happened  to  him,  and  how  he’s 
going  to  end ! ” sighed  Mrs.  Shorter. 

“You  were  saying,”  said  Honora,  for  her  friend  seemed 
to  have  relapsed  into  a contemplation  of  this  problem, 44  you 
were  saying  that  he  had  changed.” 

44  He  goes  away  for  seven  years,  and  he  suddenly  turns 
up  filled  with  ambition  and  a purpose  in  life,  something  he 
had  never  dreamed  of.  He’s  been  at  Grenoble,  where  the 
Chiltern  estate  is,  making  improvements  and  preparing  to 
settle  down  there.  And  he’s  actually  getting  ready  to 
write  a life  of  his  father,  the  General  — that’s  the  most 
surprising  thing  ! They  never  met  but  to  strike  fire  while 
the  General  was  alive.  It  appears  that  Jerry  and  Cecil 
Grainger  and  one  or  two  other  people  have  some  of  the  old 
gentleman’s  letters,  and  that’s  the  reason  why  Hugh’s  come 
to  Newport.  And  the  strangest  thing  about  it,  my  dear,” 
added  Mrs.  Shorter,  inconsequently,  44  is  that  I don’t  think 
it’s  a love  affair.” 


VINELAND 


329 


Honora  laughed  again.  It  was  the  first  time  she  had 
ever  heard  Mrs.  Shorter  attribute  unusual  human  phe- 
nomena to  any  other  source. 

44  He  wrote  Jerry  that  he  was  coming  back  to  live  on  the 
estate,  — from  England.  And  he  wasn’t  there  a week.  I 
can’t  think  where  he’s  seen  any  women  — that  is,”  Mrs. 
Shorter  corrected  herself  hastily,  44  of  his  own  class.  He’s 
been  in  the  jungle  — India,  Africa,  Corea.  That  was  after 
Sally  Harrington  broke  the  engagement.  And  I’m  posi- 
tive he’s  not  still  in  love  with  Sally.  She  lunched  with  me 
yesterday,  and  I watched  him.  Oh,  I should  have  known 
it.  But  Sally  hasn’t  got  over  it.  It  wasn’t  a grand  pas- 
sion with  Hugh.  I don’t  believe  he’s  ever  had  such  a 
thing.  Not  that  he  isn’t  capable  of  it  — on  the  contrary, 
he’s  one  of  the  few  men  I can  think  of  who  is.” 

At  this  point  in  the  conversation  Honora  thought  that 
her  curiosity  had  gone  far  enough. 


CHAPTER  IV 


THE  VIKING 

She  was  returning  on  foot  from  tlie  bank  in  Thames 
Street,  where  she  had  deposited  her  legacy,  when  she  met 
him  who  had  been  the  .subject  of  her  conversation  with 
Mrs.  Shorter.  And  the  encounter  seemed  — and  was  — 
the  most  natural  thing  in  the  world.  She  did  not  stop  to 
ask  herself  why  it  was  so  fitting  that  the  Viking  should  be 
a part  of  Vineland:  why  his  coming  should  have  given  it 
the  one  and  final  needful  touch.  For  that  designation  of 
Reginald  Far  well’s  had  come  back  to  her.  Despite  the 
fact  that  Hugh  Chiltern  had  with  such  apparent  resolu- 
tion set  his  face  towards  literature  and  the  tillage  of  the 
land,  it  was  as  the  Viking  still  that  her  imagination  pic- 
tured him.  By  these  tokens  we  may  perceive  that  this 
faculty  of  our  heroine’s  has  been  at  work,  and  her  canvas 
already  sketched  in. 

Whether  by  design  or  accident  he  was  at  the  leafy 
entrance  of  her  lane  she  was  not  to  know.  She  spied  him 
standing  there  ; and  in  her  leisurely  approach  a strange 
conceit  of  reincarnation  possessed  her,  and  she  smiled  at 
the  contrast  thus  summoned  up.  Despite  the  jingling 
harnesses  of  Bellevue  Avenue  and  the  background  of  Mr. 
Chamberlin’s  palace  wall ; despite  the  straw  hat  and 
white  trousers  and  blue  double-breasted  serge  coat  in 
which  he  was  conventionally  arrayed,  he  was  the  sea 
fighter  still  — of  all  the  ages.  M.  Vipsanius  Agrippa,  who 
had  won  an  empire  for  Augustus,  had  just  such  a head. 

Their  greeting,  too,  was  conventional  enough,  and  he 
turned  and  walked  with  her  up  the  lane,  and  halted  be- 
fore the  lilacs. 


330 


THE  VIKING 


331 


“You  have  Mrs.  Forsythe’s  house,”  he  said.  “How 
well  I remember  it  ! My  mother  used  to  bring  me  here 
years  ago.” 

“ Won’t  you  come  in  ? ” asked  Honora,  gently. 

He  seemed  to  have  forgotten  her  as  they  mounted  in 
silence  to  the  porch,  and  she  watched  him  with  curious 
feelings  as  he  gazed  about  him,  and  peered  through  the 
windows  into  the  drawing-room. 

“It’s  just  as  it  was,”  he  said.  “Even  the  furniture. 
I’m  glad  you  haven’t  moved  it.  They  used  to  sit  over 
there  in  the  corner,  and  have  tea  on  the  ebony  table. 
And  it  was  always  dark  — just  as  it  is  now.  I can  see 
them.  They  wore  dresses  with  wide  skirts  and  flounces, 
and  queer  low  collars  and  bonnets.  And  they  talked  in 
subdued  voices  — unlike  so  many  women  in  these  days.” 
She  was  a little  surprised,  and  moved,  by  the  genuine 
feeling  with  which  he  spoke. 

“ I was  most  fortunate  to  get  the  house,”  she  answered. 
“ And  I have  grown  to  love  it.  Sometimes  it  seems  as 
though  I had  always  lived  here.” 

“ Then  you  don’t  envy  that”  he  said,  flinging  his  hand 
towards  an  opening  in  the  shrubbery  which  revealed  a 
glimpse  of  one  of  the  pilasters  of  the  palace  across  the 
way.  The  instinct  of  tradition  which  had  been  the  cause 
of  Mrs.  Forsythe’s  departure  was  in  him,  too.  He,  like- 
wise, seemed  to  belong  to  the  little  house  as  he  took  one 
of  the  wicker  chairs. 

“Not,”  said  Honora,  “when  I can  have  this.” 

She  was  dressed  in  white,  her  background  of  lilac  leaves. 
Seated  on  the  railing,  with  the  tip  of  one  toe  resting  on 
the  porch,  she  smiled  down  at  him  from  under  the  shadows 
of  her  wide  hat. 

“ I didn’t  think  you  would,”  he  declared.  “ This  place 
seems  to  suit  you,  as  I imagined  you.  I have  thought  of 
you  often  since  we  first  met  last  winter.” 

“Yes,”  she  replied  hastily,  “I  am  very  happy  here. 
Mrs.  Shorter  tells  me  you  are  staying  with  them.” 

“ When  I saw  you  again  last  night,”  he  continued,  ig- 
noring her  attempt  to  divert  the  stream  from  his  channel, 


332 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


“ I had  a vivid  impression  as  of  having  just  left  you.  Have 
you  ever  felt  that  way  about  people  ? ” 

“Yes,”  she  admitted,  and  poked  the  toe  of  her  boot 
with  her  parasol. 

“ And  then  I find  you  in  this  house,  which  has  so  many 
associations  for  me.  Harmoniously  here,”  he  added,  “ if 
you  know  what  I mean.  Not  a newcomer,  but  some  one 
who  must  always  have  been  logically  expected.” 

She  glanced  at  him  quickly,  with  parted  lips.  It  was 
she  who  had  done  most  of  the  talking  at  Mrs.  Grainger’s 
dinner  ; and  the  imaginative  quality  of  mind  he  was  now 
revealing  was  unlooked  for.  She  was  surprised  not  to 
find  it  out  of  character.  It  is  a little  difficult  to  know 
what  she  expected  of  him,  since  she  did  not  know  herself : 
the  methods,  perhaps,  of  the  Viking  in  Longfellow’s  poem. 
She  was  aware,  at  least,  that  she  had  attracted  him,  and 
she  was  beginning  to  realize  it  was  not  a thing  that  could 
be  done  lightly.  This  gave  her  a little  flutter  of  fear. 

“ Are  you  going  to  be  long  in  Newport  ? ” she  asked. 

“I  am  leaving  on  Friday,”  he  replied.  “It  seems 
strange  to  be  here  again  after  so  many  years.  I find  I’ve 
got  out  of  touch  with  it.  And  I haven’t  a boat,  although 
Farnham’s  been  kind  enough  to  offer  me  his.” 

“I  can’t  imagine  you,  somehow,  without  a boat,”  she 
said,  and  added  hastily:  “Mrs.  Shorter  was  speaking  of 
you  this  morning,  and  said  that  you  were  always  on  the 
water  when  you  were  here.  Newport  must  have  been 
quite  different  then.” 

He  accepted  the  topic,  and  during  the  remainder  of  his 
visit  she  succeeded  in  keeping  the  conversation  in  the 
middle  ground,  although  she  had  a sense  of  the  ultimate 
futility  of  the  effort ; a sense  of  pressure  being  exerted, 
no  matter  what  she  said.  She  presently  discovered,  how- 
ever, that  the  taste  for  literature  attributed  to  him  — 
which  had  seemed  so  incongruous  — existed.  He  spoke 
with  a new  fire  when  she  led  him  that  way,  albeit  she  sus- 
pected that  some  of  the  fuel  was  derived  from  the  revela- 
tion that  she  shared  his  liking  for  books.  As  the  extent 
of  his  reading  became  gradually  disclosed,  however,  her 


THE  VIKING 


333 


feeling  of  inadequacy  grew,  and  she  resolved  in  the  future 
to  make  better  use  of  her  odd  moments.  On  her  table,  in 
two  green  volumes,  was  the  life  of  a Massachusetts  states- 
man that  Mrs.  Shorter  had  lent  her.  She  picked  it  up 
after  Chiltern  had  gone.  He  had  praised  it. 

He  left  behind  him  a blurred  portrait  on  her  mind,  as 
that  of  two  men  superimposed.  And  only  that  morning 
she  had  had  such  a distinct  impression  of  one.  It  was 
from  a consideration  of  this  strange  phenomenon,  with 
her  book  lying  open  in  her  lap,  that  her  maid  aroused  her 
to  go  to  Mrs.  Pryor’s.  This  was  Tuesday. 

Some  of  the  modern  inventions  we  deem  most  marvellous 
have  been  fitted  for  ages  to  man  and  woman.  Woman, 
particularly,  possesses  for  instance  a kind  of  submarine  bell; 
and,  if  she  listens,  she  can  at  times  hear  it  tinkling  faintly. 
And  the  following  morning,  Wednesday,  Honora  heard 
hers  when  she  received  an  invitation  to  lunch  at  Mrs. 
Shorter’s.  After  a struggle,  she  refused,  but  Mrs.  Shorter 
called  her  up  over  the  telephone,  and  she  yielded. 

“ I’ve  got  Alfred  Deming  for  myself,”  said  Elsie  Shorter, 
as  she  greeted  Honora  in  the  hall.  “ He  writes  those  very 
clever  things  — you’ve  read  them.  And  Hugh  for  you,” 
she  added  significantly. 

The  Shorter  cottage,  though  commodious,  was  simplicity 
itself.  From  the  vine-covered  pergola  where  they  lunched 
they  beheld  the  distant  sea  like  a lavender  haze  across  the 
flats.  And  Honora  wondered  whether  there  were  not  an 
element  of  truth  in  what  Mr.  Deming  said  of  their  hostess 
— that  she  thought  nothing  immoral  except  novels  wdth 
happy  endings.  Chiltern  did  not  talk  much : he  looked 
at  Honora. 

“ Hugh  has  got  so  serious,”  said  Elsie  Shorter,  “ that 
sometimes  I’m  actually  afraid  of  him.  You  ought  to 
have  done  something  to  be  as  serious  as  that,  Hugh.” 

“ Done  something  ! ” 

“Written  the  4 Origin  of  Species,’  or  founded  a new 
political  party,  or  executed  a coup  d’etat.  Half  the  time 
I’m  under  the  delusion  that  I’m  entertaining  a celebrity 
under  my  roof,  and  I wake  up  and  it’s  only  Hugh.” 


334 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


“ It’s  because  he  looks  as  though  he  might  do  any  of 
those  things,”  suggested  Mr.  Deming.  “ Perhaps  he 
may.” 

“ Oh,”  said  Elsie  Shorter,  “ the  men  who  do  them  are 
usually  little  wobbly  specimens.” 

Honora  was  silent,  watching  Chiltern.  At  times  the 
completeness  of  her  understanding  of  him  gave  her  an  un- 
canny sensation,  and  again  she  failed  to  comprehend  him 
at  all.  She  felt  his  anger  go  to  a white  heat,  but  the 
others  seemed  blissfully  unaware  of  the  fact.  The  arrival 
of  coffee  made  a diversion. 

“You  and  Hugh  may  have  the  pergola,  Honora.  I’ll 
take  Mr.  Deming  into  the  garden.” 

“ I really  ought  to  go  in  a few  minutes,  Elsie,”  said 
Honora. 

“ What  nonsense  ! ” exclaimed  Mrs.  Shorter.  “ If  it’s 
bridge  at  the  Playfairs’,  I’ll  telephone  and  get  you  out 
of  it.” 

“ No—” 

“ Then  I don’t  see  where  you  can  be  going,”  declared 
Mrs.  Shorter,  and  departed  with  her  cavalier. 

“ Why  are  you  so  anxious  to  get  away  ? ” asked  Chil- 
tern,  abruptly. 

Honora  coloured. 

“Oh  — did  I seem  so?  Elsie  has  such  a mania  for 
pairing  people  off  — sometimes  it’s  quite  embarrassing.” 

“ She  was  a little  rash  in  assuming  that  you’d  rather 
talk  to  me,”  he  said,  smiling. 

“You  were  not  consulted,  either.” 

“ I was  consulted  before  lunch,”  he  replied. 

“ You  mean  — ?” 

“ I mean  that  I wanted  you,”  he  said.  She  had  known 
it,  of  course.  The  submarine  bell  had  told  her.  And  he 
could  have  found  no  woman  in  Newport  who  would  have 
brought  more  enthusiasm  to  his  aid  than  Elsie  Shorter. 

“ And  you  usually  get  what  you  want,”  she  retorted 
with  a spark  of  rebellion. 

“ Yes,”  he  admitted.  “ Only  hitherto  I haven’t  wanted 
very  desirable  things.” 


THE  VIKING 


335 


/ She  laughed,  but  her  curiosity 

' \ got  the  better  of  her. 

j “Hitherto,”  she  said,  “you  have 
just  taken  what  you  desired.” 

From  the  smouldering  fires  in  his  eyes  darted  an  arrow- 
point  of  flame. 

“ What  kind  of  a man  are  you  ? ” she  asked,  throwing 
the  impersonal  to  the  winds.  “ Somebody  called  you  a 
Viking  once.” 


336 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


“ Who  ? ” he  demanded. 

“ It  doesn’t  matter.  I’m  beginning  to  think  the  name 
singularly  appropriate.  It  wouldn’t  be  the  first  time  one 
landed  in  Newport,  according  to  legend,”  she  added. 

“ I haven’t  read  the  poem  since  childhood,”  said  Chil- 
tern,  looking  at  her  fixedly,  “ but  he  became  — domesticated, 
if  I remember  rightly.” 

“ Yes,”  she  admitted,  “the  impossible  happened  to  him, 
as  it  usually  does  in  books.  And  then,  circumstances 
helped.  There  were  no  other  women.” 

“ When  the  lady  died,”  said  Chiltern,  “ he  fell  upon  his 
spear.” 

“ The  final  argument  for  my  theory,”  declared  Honora. 

“ On  the  contrary,”  he  maintained,  smiling,  “ it  proves 
there  is  always  one  woman  for  every  man  — if  he  can  find 
her.  If  this  man  had  lived  in  modern  times,  he  would 
probably  have  changed  from  a Captain  Kidd  into  a useful 
citizen  of  the  kind  you  once  said  you  admired.” 

“ Is  a woman  necessary,”  she  asked,  “ for  the  transfor- 
mation ? ” 

He  looked  at  her  so  intently  that  she  blushed  to  the 
hair  clustering  at  her  temples.  She  had  not  meant  that 
her  badinage  should  go  so  deep. 

“It  was  not  a woman,”  he  said  slowly,  “ that  brought 
me  back  to  America.” 

“ Oh,”  she  exclaimed,  suffused,  “ I hope  you  won’t 
think  that  curiosity”  — and  got  no  farther. 

He  was  silent  a moment,  and  when  she  ventured  to  glance 
up  at  him  one  of  those  enigmatical  changes  had  taken 
place.  He  was  looking  at  her  gravely,  though  intently, 
and  the  Viking  had  disappeared. 

“I  wanted  you  to  know,”  he  answered.  “You  must 
have  heard  more  or  less  about  me.  People  talk.  Natu- 
rally these  things  haven’t  been  repeated  to  me,  but  I 
dare  say  many  of  them  are  true.  I haven’t  been  a saint, 
and  I don’t  pretend  to  be  now.  I’ve  never  taken  the 
trouble  to  deceive  any  one.  And  I’ve  never  cared,  I’m 
sorry  to  say,  what  was  said.  But  I’d  like  you  to  believe 
that  when  I agreed  with  — with  the  sentiments  you  ex- 


THE  VIKING 


337 


pressed  the  first  time  I saw  you,  I was  sincere.  And  I am 
still  sincere.” 

“ Indeed,  I do  believe  it  ! ” cried  Honora. 

His  face  lighted. 

“ Yon  seemed  different  from  the  other  women  I had 
known  — of  my  generation,  at  least,”  he  went  on  steadily. 
“None  of  them  could  have  spoken  as  you  did.  I had  just 
landed  that  morning,  and  I should  have  gone  direct  to 
Grenoble,  but  there  was  some  necessary  business  to  be 
attended  to  in  New  York.  I didn’t  want  to  go  to  Bessie’s 
dinner,  but  she  insisted.  She  was  short  of  a man.  I 
went.  I sat  next  to  you,  and  you  interpreted  my  mind. 
It  seemed  too  extraordinary  not  to  have  had  a signifi- 
cance.” 

Honora  did  not  reply.  She  felt  instinctively  that  he 
was  a man  who  was  not  wont  ordinarily  to  talk  about  his 
affairs.  Beneath  his  speech  was  an  undercurrent  — or 
undertow,  perhaps  — carrying  her  swiftly,  easily,  helpless 
into  the  deep  waters  of  intimacy.  For  the  moment  she 
let  herself  go  without  a struggle.  Her  silence  was  of  a 
breathless  quality  which  he  must  have  felt. 

“ And  I am  going  to  tell  you  why  I came  home,”  he 
said.  “ I have  spoken  of  it  to  nobody,  but  I wish  you  to 
know  that  it  had  nothing  to  do  with  any  ordinary  compli- 
cation these  people  may  invent.  Nor  was  there  anything 
supernatural  about  it : what  happened  to  me,  I suppose,  is 
as  old  a story  as  civilization  itself.  I’d  been  knocking 
about  the  world  for  a good  many  years,  and  I’d  had  time 
to  think.  One  day  I found  myself  in  the  interior  of 
China  with  a few  coolies  and  a man  who  I suspect  was  a 
ticket-of-leave  Englishman.  I can  see  the  place  now  — 
the  yellow  fog,  the  sand  piled  up  against  the  wall  like 
yellow  snow.  Desolation  was  a mild  name  for  it.  I 
think  I began  with  a consideration  of  the  Englishman  who 
was  asleep  in  the  shadow  of  a tower.  There  was  some- 
thing inconceivably  hopeless  in  his  face  in  that  ochre 
light.  Then  the  place  where  I was  born  and  brought  up 
came  to  me  with  a startling  completeness,  and  I began  to 
go  over  my  own  life,  step  by  step.  To  make  a long  story 


338 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


short,  I perceived  that  what  my  father  had  tried  to  teach 
me,  in  his  own  way,  had  some  reason  in  it.  He  was  a 
good  deal  of  a man.  I made  up  my  mind  I’d  come  home 
and  start  in  where  I belonged.  But  I didn’t  do  so  right 
away  — I finished  the  trip  first,  and  lent  the  Englishman 
a thousand  pounds  to  buy  into  a firm  in  Shanghai.  I sup- 
pose,” he  added,  “ that  is  what  is  called  suggestion.  In 
my  case  it  was  merely  the  cumulative  result  of  many  re- 
flections in  waste  places.” 

“ And  since  then  ? ” 

“ Since  then  I have  been  at  Grenoble,  making  repairs 
and  trying  to  learn  something  about  agriculture.  I’ve 
never  been  as  happy  in  my  life.” 

“ And  you’re  going  back  on  Friday,”  she  said. 

He  glanced  at  her  quickly.  He  had  detected  the  note 
in  her  speech  : though  lightly  uttered,  it  was  unmistakably 
a command.  She  tried  to  soften  its  effect  in  her  next 
sentence. 

“ I can’t  express  how  much  I appreciate  your  telling  me 
this,”  she  said.  “ I’ll  confess  to  you  I wished  to  think 
that  something  of  that  kind  had  happened.  I wished  to 
believe  that  — that  you  had  made  this  determination  — 
alone.  When  I met  you  that  night  there  was  something 
about  you  I couldn’t  account  for.  I haven’t  been  able  to 
account  for  it  until  now.” 

She  paused,  confused,  fearful  that  she  had  gone  too  far. 
A moment  later  she  was  sure  of  it.  A look  came  into  his 
eyes  that  frightened  her. 

“ You’ve  thought  of  me  ? ” he  said. 

“ You  must  know,”  she  replied,  “that  you  have  an  un- 
usual personality ; — a striking  one.  I can  go  so  far  as  to 
say  that  I remembered  you  when  you  reappeared  at  Mrs. 
Grenfell’s — -”  she  hesitated. 

He  rose,  and  walked  to  the  far  end  of  the  tiled  pave- 
ment of  the  pergola,  and  stood  for  a moment  looking  out 
over  the  sea.  Then  he  turned  to  her. 

“ I either  like  a person  or  I don’t,”  he  said.  “And  I 
tell  you  frankly  I have  never  met  a woman  whom  I cared 
for  as  I do  you.  I hope  you’re  not  going  to  insist  upon  a 


THE  VIKING 


339 


probationary  period  of  months  before  you  decide  whether 
you  can  reciprocate.” 

Here  indeed  was  a speech  in  his  other  character, 
and  she  seemed  to  see,  in  a flash,  his  whole  life  in 
it.  There  was  a touch  of  boyishness  that  appealed,  a 
touch  of  insistent  masterfulness  that  alarmed.  She  re- 
called that  Mrs.  Shorter  had  said  of  him  that  he  had 
never  had  to  besiege  a fortress  — the  white  flag  had  al- 
ways appeared  too  quickly.  Of  course  there  was  the 
mystery  of  Mrs.  Maitland  — still  to  be  cleared  up.  It 
was  plain,  at  least,  that  resistance  merely  made  him  un- 
manageable. She  smiled. 

44  It  seems  to  me,”  she  said,  44  that  in  two  days  we  have 
become  astonishingly  intimate.” 

44  Why  shouldn’t  we  ?”  he  demanded. 

But  she  was  not  to  be  led  into  casuistry. 

44  I’ve  been  reading  the  biography  you  recommended,” 
she  said. 

He  continued  to  look  at  her  a moment,  and  laughed  as 
he  sat  down  beside  her.  Later  he  walked  home  with  her. 
A dinner  and  bridge  followed,  and  it  was  after  midnight 
when  she  returned.  As  her  maid  unfastened  her  gown 
she  perceived  that  her  pincushion  had  been  replaced  by 
the  one  she  had  received  at  the  ball. 

44  Did  you  put  that  there,  Mathilde  ? ” she  asked. 

Mathilde  had.  She  had  seen  it  on  madame’s  bureau, 
and  thought  madame  wished  it  there.  She  would  replace 
the  old  one  at  once. 

44  No,”  said  Honora,  44  you  may  leave  it,  now.” 

44  Bien,  madame,”  said  the  maid,  and  glanced  at  her 
mistress,  who  appeared  to  have  fallen  into  a revery. 

It  had  seemed  strange  to  her  to  hear  people  talking 
about  him  at  the  dinner  that  night,  and  once  or  twice  her 
soul  had  sprung  to  arms  to  champion  him,  only  to  remem- 
ber that  her  knowledge  was  special.  She  alone  of  all  of 
them  understood,  and  she  found  herself  exulting  in  the 
superiority.  The  amazed  comment  when  the  heir  to  the 
Chiltern  fortune  had  returned  to  the  soil  of  his  ancestors 
had  been  revived  on  his  arrival  in  Newport.  Ned  Car- 


340 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


rington,  amid  much  laughter,  had  quoted  the  lines  about 
Prince  Hal : 

11  To  mock  the  expectations  of  the  world , 

To  frustrate  prophecies.” 

Honora  disliked  Mr.  Carrington, 

Perhaps  the  events  of  Thursday  would  better  be  left  in 
the  confusion  in  which  they  remained  in  Honora’s  mind. 
She  was  awakened  by  penetrating,  persistent,  and  mourn- 
ful notes  which  for  some  time  she  could  not  identify,  al- 
though they  sounded  oddly  familiar  ; and  it  was  not  until 
she  felt  the  dampness  of  the  coverlet  and  looked  at  the 
white  square  of  her  open  windows  that  she  realized  there 
was  a fog.  And  it  had  not  lifted  when  Chiltern  came  in 
the  afternoon.  They  discussed  literature  — but  the  book 
had  fallen  to  the  floor.  Absit  omen ! If  printing  had 
then  been  invented,  undoubtedly  there  would  have  been  a 
book  instead  of  an  apple  in  the  third  chapter  of  Genesis. 
He  confided  to  her  his  plan  of  collecting  his  father’s  letters 
and  of  writing  the  General’s  life.  Honora,  too,  would 
enjoy  writing  a book.  Perhaps  the  thought  of  the  pleas- 
ure of  collaboration  occurred  to  them  both  at  once  ; it 
was  Chiltern  who  wished  that  he  might  have  her  help  in 
the  difficult  places;  she  had,  he  felt,  the  literary  instinct. 
It  was  not  the  Viking  who  was  talking  now.  And  then, 
at  last,  he  had  risen  reluctantly  to  leave.  The  afternoon 
had  flown.  She  held  out  her  hand  with  a frank  smile. 

“ Good-by,”  she  said.  44  Good-by,  and  good  luck.” 

44  But  I may  not  go,”  he  replied. 

She  stood  dismayed. 

“I  thought  you  told  me  you  were  going  on  Friday  — 
to-morrow.” 

44 1 merely  set  that  as  a probable  date.  I have  changed 
my  mind.  There  is  no  immediate  necessity.  Do  you 
wish  me  to  go  ? ” he  demanded. 

She  had  turned  away,  and  was  straightening  the  books 
on  the  table. 

44  Why  should  I ? ” she  said. 

44  You  wouldn’t  object  to  my  remaining  a few  days 
more  ? ” He  had  reached  the  doorway. 


THE  VIKING 


341 


“ What  have  I to  do  with  your  staying  ? ” she  asked. 

“ Everything,”  he  answered  — and  was  gone. 

She  stood  still.  The  feeling  that  possessed  her  now 
was  rebellion,  and  akin  to  hate. 

Her  conduct,  therefore,  becomes  all  the  more  incom- 
prehensible when  we  find  her  accepting,  the  next  after- 
noon, his  invitation  to  sail  on  Mr.  Farnham’s  yacht,  the 
Folly . It  is  true  that  the  gods  will  not  exonerate  Mrs. 
Shorter.  That  lady,  who  had  been  bribed  with  Alfred 


Deming,  used  her  persuasive  powers;  she  might  be  likened 
to  a skilful  artisan  who  blew  wonderful  rainbow  fabrics 
out  of  glass  without  breaking  it;  she  blew  the  tender  pas- 
sion into  a thousand  shapes,  and  admired  every  one. 
Her  criminal  culpability  consisted  in  forgetting  the  fact 
that  it  could  not  be  trusted  with  children. 

Nature  seems  to  delight  in  contrasts.  As  though  to 
atone  for  the  fog  she  sent  a dazzling  day  out  of  the  north- 
west, and  the  summer  world  was  stained  in  new  colours. 
The  yachts  were  whiter,  the  water  bluer,  the  grass 
greener;  the  stern  grey  rocks  themselves  flushed  with 
purple.  The  wharves  were  gay,  and  dark  clustering  foli- 
age hid  an  enchanted  city  as  the  Folly  glided  between 
dancing  buoys.  Honora,  with  a frightened  glance  up- 
ward at  the  great  sail,  caught  her  breath.  And  she  felt 
rather  than  saw  the  man  beside  her  guiding  her  seaward. 


342 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


A discreet  expanse  of  striped  yellow  deck  separated 
them  from  the  wicker  chairs  where  Mrs.  Shorter  and  Mr. 
Deming  were  already  established.  She  glanced  at  the 
profile  of  the  Viking,  and  allowed  her  mind  to  dwell  for 
an  instant  upon  the  sensations  of  that  other  woman  who 
had  been  snatched  up  and  carried  across  the  ocean. 
Which  was  the  quality  in  him  that  attracted  her?  his  law- 
lessness, or  his  intellect  and  ambition  ? Never,  she  knew, 
had  he  appealed  to  her  more  than  at  this  moment,  when 
he  stood,  a stern  figure  at  the  wheel,  and  vouchsafed  her 
nothing  but  commonplaces.  This,  surely,  was  his  element. 

Presently,  however,  the  yacht  slid  out  from  the  infold- 
ing land  into  an  open  sea  that  stretched  before  them  to  a 
silver-lined  horizon.  And  he  turned  to  her  with  a dis- 
concerting directness,  as  though  taking  for  granted  a 
subtle  understanding  between  them. 

44  How  well  you  sail,”  she  said,  hurriedly. 

44 1 ought  to  be  able  to  do  that,  at  least,”  he  declared. 

44 1 saw  you  when  you  came  in  the  other  day,  although 
I didn’t  know  who  it  was  until  afterwards.  I was  stand- 
ing on  the  rocks  near  the  Fort,  and  my  heart  was  in  my 
mouth.” 

He  answered  that  the  Folly  was  a good  sea  boat. 

44  So  you  decided  to  forgive  me,”  he  said. 

44  For  what  ? ” 

44  For  staying  in  Newport.” 

Before  accepting  the  invitation  she  had  formulated  a 
policy,  cheerfully  confident  in  her  ability  to  cany  it  out. 
For  his  decision  not  to  leave  Newport  had  had  an  opposite 
effect  upon  her  than  that  she  had  anticipated ; it  had 
oddly  relieved  the  pressure.  It  had  given  her  a chance  to 
rally  her  forces ; to  smile,  indeed,  at  an  onslaught  that 
had  so  disturbed  her  ; to  examine  the  matter  in  a more 
rational  light.  It  had  been  a cause  for  self-congratulation 
that  she  had  scarcely  thought  of  him  the  night  before. 
And  to-day,  in  her  blue  veil  and  blue  serge  gown,  she  had 
boarded  the  Folly  with  her  wits  about  her.  She  forgot 
that  it  was  he  who,  so  to  speak,  had  the  choice  of  ground 
and  weapons. 


THE  VIKING 


343 


“ I have  forgiven  yon.  Why  shouldn’t  I,  when  you 
have  so  royally  atoned.” 

But  he  obstinately  refused  to  fence.  There  was  nothing 
apologetic  in  this  man,  no  indirectness  in  his  method  of 
attack.  Parry  adroitly  as  she  might,  he  beat  down  her 
guard.  As  the  afternoon  wore  on  there  were  silences, 
when  Honora,  by  staring  over  the  waters,  tried  to  collect 
her  thoughts.  But  the  sea  was  his  ally,  and  she  turned 
her  face  appealingly  toward  the  receding  land.  Fascina- 
tion and  fear  struggled  within  her  as  she  had  listened  to 
his  onslaughts,  and  she  was  conscious  of  being  moved  by 
what  he  was,  not  by  what  he  said.  Vainly  she  glanced 
at  the  two  representatives  of  an  ironically  satisfied  con- 
vention, only  to  realize  that  they  were  absorbed  in  a milder 
but  no  less  entrancing  aspect  of  the  same  topic,  and  would 
not  thank  her  for  an  interruption. 

“ Do  you  wish  me  to  go  away  ? ” he  asked  at  last 
abruptly,  almost  rudely. 

“ Surely,”  she  said,  “ your  work,  your  future  isn’t  in 
Newport.” 

“ You  haven’t  answered  my  question.” 

“ It’s  because  I have  no  right  to  answer  it,”  she  replied. 
“ Although  we  have  known  each  other  so  short  a time, 
I am  your  friend.  You  must  realize  that.  I am  not 
conventional.  I have  lived  long  enough  to  understand 
that  the  people  one  likes  best  are  not  necessarily  those  one 
has  known  longest.  You  interest  me  — I admit  it  frankly 
- — I speak  to  you  sincerely.  I am  even  concerned  that 
you  shall  find  happiness,  and  I feel  that  you  have  the 
power  to  make  something  of  yourself.  What  more  can  I 
say  ? It  seems  to  me  a little  strange,”  she  added,  “ that 
under  the  circumstances  I should  say  so  much.  I can 
give  no  higher  proof  of  my  friendship.” 

He  did  not  reply,  but  gave  a sharp  order  to  the  crew. 
The  sheet  was  shortened,  and  the  Folly  obediently  headed 
westward  against  the  swell,  flinging  rainbows  from  her 
bows  as  she  ran.  Mrs.  Shorter  and  Deming  returned  at 
this  moment  from  the  cabin,  where  they  had  been  on  a 
tour  of  inspection. 


344 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


“ Where  are  you  taking  us,  Hugh  ? ” said  Mrs.  Shorter. 

“Nowhere  in  particular,”  he  replied. 

“ Please  don’t  forget  that  I am  having  people  to  dinner 
to-night.  That’s  all  I ask.  What  have  you  done  to  him, 
Honora,  to  put  him  in  such  a humour  ? ” 

Honora  laughed. 

UI  hadn’t  noticed  anything  peculiar  about  him,”  she 
answered. 

“ This  boat  reminds  me  of  Adele,”  said  Mrs.  Shorter. 
“ She  loved  it.  I can  see  how  she  could  get  a divorce  from 
Dicky  — but  the  Folly!  She  told  me  yesterday  that  the 
sight  of  it  made  her  homesick,  and  Eustace  Rindge  won’t 
leave  Paris.” 

It  suddenly  occurred  to  Honora,  as  she  glanced  around 
the  yacht,  that  Mrs.  Rindge  rather  haunted  her. 

u So  that  is  your  answer,”  said  Chiltern,  when  they  were 
alone  again. 

“ What  other  can  I give  you  ? ” 

“ Is  it  because  you  are  married  ? ” he  demanded. 

She  grew  crimson. 

“ Isn’t  that  an  unnecessary  question  ? ” 

“No,”  he  declared.  “It  concerns  me  vitally  to  under- 
stand you.  You  were  good  enough  to  wish  that  I should 
find  happiness.  I have  found  the  possibility  of  it  — in 
you.” 

“ Oh,”  she  cried,  “ don’t  say  such  things  ! ” 

“ Have  you  found  happiness  ? ” he  asked. 

She  turned  her  face  from  him  towards  their  shining 
wake.  But  he  had  seen  that  her  eyes  were  filled  with 
sudden  tears. 

“Forgive  me,”  he  pleaded;  “I  did  not  mean  to  be 
brutal.  I said  that  because  I felt  as  I have  never  in  my 
life  felt  before.  As  I did  not  know  I could  feel.  I can’t 
account  for  it,  but  I ask  you  to  believe  me.” 

“ I can  account  for  it,”  she  answered  presently,  with  a 
strange  gentleness.  “ It  is  because  you  met  me  at  a critical 
time.  Such  — coincidences  often  occur  in  life.  I happened 
to  be  a woman ; and,  I confess  it,  a woman  who  was  in- 
terested. I could  not  have  been  interested  if  you  had 


THE  VIKING 


345 


been  less  real,  less  sincere.  But  I saw  that  you  were  go- 
ing through  a crisis  ; that  you  might,  with  your  powers, 
build  up  your  life  into  a splendid  and  useful  thing.  And, 
womanlike,  my  instinct  was  to  help  you.  I should  not 
have  allowed  you  to  go  on,  but  — but  it  all  happened  so 
quickly  that  I was  bewildered.  I — I do  not  understand 
it  myself.” 

He  listened  hungrily,  and  yet  at  times  with  evident  im- 
patience. 

“No,”  he  said,  “ I cannot  believe  that  it  was  an  acci- 
dent. It  was  you  — ” 

She  stopped  him  with  an  imploring  gesture. 

“ Please,”  she  said,  “ please  let  us  go  in.” 

Without  an  instant’s  hesitation  he  brought  the  sloop 
about  and  headed  her  for  the  light-ship  on  Brenton’s  reef, 
and  they  sailed  in  silence.  Awhile  she  watched  the  sap- 
phire waters  break  to  dazzling  whiteness  under  the  western- 
ing sun.  Then,  in  an  ecstasy  she  did  not  seek  to  question, 
she  closed  her  eyes  to  feel  more  keenly  the  swift  motion  of 
their  flight.  Why  not?  The  sea,  the  winds  of  heaven, 
had  aided  others  since  the  dawn  of  history.  Legend  was 
eternally  true.  On  these  very  shores  happiness  had 
awaited  those  who  had  dared  to  face  primeval  things. 

She  looked  again,  this  time  towards  an  unpeopled  shore. 
No  sentinel  guarded  the  uncharted  reefs,  and  the  very 
skies  were  smiling,  after  the  storm,  at  the  scudding  fates. 

It  was  not  until  they  were  landlocked  once  more,  and 
the  Folly  was  reluctantly  beating  back  through  the  Nar- 
rows, that  he  spoke  again. 

“ So  you  wish  me  to  go  away  ? ” 

“ I cannot  see  any  use  in  your  staying,”  she  replied, 
“—after  what  you  have  said.  I cannot  see,”  she  added  in 
a low  voice,  “ that  for  you  to  remain  would  be  to  promote 
the  happiness  of  — either  of  us.  You  should  have  gone 
to-day.” 

“ You  care  ! ” he  exclaimed. 

“ It  is  because  I do  not  wish  to  care  that  I tell  you  to 
go.” 

“ And  you  refuse  happiness  ? ” 


346 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


44  It  could  be  happiness  for  neither  of  us,”  said  Honora. 
44  The  situation  would  be  impossible.  You  are  not  a man 
who  would  be  satisfied  with  moderation.  You  would  in- 
sist upon  haying  all.  And  you  do  not  know  what  you  are 
asking.” 

44 1 know  that  I want  you,”  he  said,  44  and  that  my  life  is 
won  or  lost  with  or  without  you.” 

44  You  have  no  right  to  say  such  a thing.” 

44  We  have  each  of  us  but  one  life  to  live.” 

44  And  one  life  to  ruin,”  she  answered.  44  See,  you  are 
running  on  the  rocks  ! ” 

He  swung  the  boat  around. 

44  Others  have  rebuilt  upon  ruins,”  he  declared. 

She  smiled  at  him. 

44  But  you  are  taking  my  ruins  for  granted,”  she  said. 
44  You  would  make  them  first.” 

He  relapsed  into  silence  again.  The  Folly  needed 
watching.  Once  he  turned  and  spoke  her  name,  and  she 
did  not  rebuke  him. 

44  Women  have  a clearer  vision  of  the  future  than  men,” 
she  began  presently,  44  and  I know  you  better  than  you 
know  yourself.  What  — what  you  desire  would  not  mend 
your  life,  but  break  it  utterly.  I am  speaking  plainly. 
As  I have  told  you,  you  interest  me  ; so  far  that  is  the 
extent  of  my  feelings.  I do  not  know  whether  they  would 
go  any  farther,  but  on  your  account  as  well  as  my  own  I 
will  not  take  the  risk.  We  have  come  to  an  impasse.  I 
am  sorry.  I wish  we  might  have  been  friends,  but  what 
you  have  said  makes  it  impossible.  There  is  only  one 
thing  to  do,  and  that  is  for  you  to  go  away.” 

He  eased  off  his  sheet,  rounded  the  fort,  and  set  a course 
for  the  moorings.  The  sun  hung  red  above  the  silhou- 
etted roofs  of  Conanicut,  and  a quaint  tower  in  the  shape 
of  a minaret  stood  forth  to  cap  the  illusions  of  a day. 

The  wind  was  falling,  the  harbour  quieting  for  the  night, 
and  across  the  waters,  to  the  tones  of  a trumpet,  the  red 
bars  of  the  battleship’s  flag  fluttered  to  the  deck.  The 
Folly,  making  a wide  circle,  shot  into  the  breeze,  and 
ended  by  gliding  gently  up  to  the  buoy. 


CHAPTER  Y 


THE  SURVIVAL  OF  THE  FITTEST 

It  was  Saturday  morning,  but  Honora  had  forgotten  the 
fact.  Not  until  she  was  on  the  bottom  step  did  the  odour 
of  cigarettes  reach  her  and  turn  her  faint ; and  she  clutched 
suddenly  at  the  banisters.  Thus  she  stood  for  a while, 
motionless,  and  then  went  quietly  into  the  drawing-room. 
The  French  windows  looking  out  on  the  porch  were,  as 
usual,  open. 

It  was  an  odd  sensation  thus  to  be  regarding  one’s  hus- 
band objectively.  For  the  first  time  he  appeared  to  her 
definitely  as  a stranger ; as  much  a stranger  as  the  man 
who  came  once  a week  to  wind  Mrs.  Forsythe’s  clocks. 
Nay,  more.  There  was  a sense  of  intrusion  in  this  visit,  of 
invasion  of  a life  with  which  he  had  nothing  to  do.  She 
examined  him  ruthlessly,  very  much  as  one  might  exam- 
ine a burglar  taken  unawares.  There  was  the  inevitable 
shirt  with  the  wide  pink  stripes,  of  the  abolishment  or 
even  of  the  effective  toning  down  of  which  she  had  long 
since  despaired.  On  the  contrary,  like  his  complexion, 
they  evinced  a continual  tendency  towards  a more  aggres- 
sive colour.  There  was  also  the  jewelled  ring,  now  con- 
spicuously held  aloft  on  a fat  little  finger.  The  stripes 
appeared  that  morning  as  the  banner  of  a hated  suzerain, 
the  ring  as  the  emblem  of  his  overlordship.  He  did  not 
belong  in  that  house ; everything  in  it  cried  out  for  his 
removal ; and  yet  it  was,  in  the  eyes  of  the  law  at  least, 
his.  By  grace  of  that  fact  she  was  here,  enjoying  it.  At 
that  instant,  as  though  in  evidence  of  this,  he  laid  down  a 
burning  cigarette  on  a mahogany  stand  he  had  had  brought 
out  to  him.  Honora  seized  an  ash  tray,  hurried  to  the 
porch,  and  picked  up  the  cigarette  in  the  tips  of  her  fingers. 

347 


348 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


“ Howard,  I wish  you  would  be  more  careful  of  Mrs. 
Forsythe’s  furniture,”  she  exclaimed. 

“ Hello,  Honora,”  he  said,  without  looking  up.  “ I see 
by  the  Newport  paper  that  old  Maitland  is  back  from 
Europe.  Things  are  skyrocketing  in  Wall  Street.”  He 
glanced  at  the  ash  tray,  which  she  had  pushed  towards 
him.  “ What’s  the  difference  about  the  table  ? If  the  old 
lady  makes  a row,  I’ll  pay  for  it.” 

“ Some  things  are  priceless,”  she  replied ; “ you  do  not 
seem  to  realize  that.” 

“Not  this  rubbish,”  said  Howard.  “Judging  by  the 
fuss  she  made  oyer  the  inventory,  you’d  think  it  might  be 
worth  something.” 

“ She  has  trusted  us  with  it,”  said  Honora.  Her  voice 
shook. 

He  stared  at  her. 

“ I never  saw  you  look  like  that,”  he  declared. 

“It’s  because  you  never  look  at  me  closely,”  she  an- 
swered. 

He  laughed,  and  resumed  his  reading.  She  stood  awhile 
by  the  railing.  Across  the  way,  beyond  the  wall,  she 
heard  Mr.  Chamberlin’s  shrill  voice  berating  a gardener. 

“ Howard,”  she  asked  presently,  “ why  do  you  come  to 
Newport  at  all  ? ” 

“ Why  do  I come  to  Newport  ? ” he  repeated.  “ I don’t 
understand  you.” 

“ Why  do  you  come  up  here  every  week  ? ” 

“ Well,”  he  said,  “it  isn’t  a bad  trip  on  the  boat,  and  I 
get  a change  from  New  York,  and  see  men  I shouldn’t 
probably  see  otherwise.”  He  paused  and  looked  at  her 
again,  doubtfully.  “ Why  do  you  ask  such  a question  ? ” 

“ I wished  to  be  sure,”  said  Honora. 

“ Sure  of  what  ? ” 

“That  the  — arrangement  suited  you  perfectly.  You 
do  not  feel  — the  lack  of  anything,  do  you?” 

“ What  do  you  mean  ? ” 

“ You  wouldn’t  care  to  stay  in  Newport  all  the  time  ? ” 

“ Not  if  I know  myself,”  he  replied.  “ I leave  that  part 
of  it  to  you.” 


THE  SURVIVAL  OF  THE  FITTEST 


349 


“ What  part  of  it  ? ” she  demanded. 

“You  ought  to  know.  You  do  it  pretty  well,”  he 
laughed.  “ By  the  way,  Honora,  I’ve  got  to  have  a con- 
ference with  Mr.  Wing  to-day,  and  I may  not  be  home  to 
lunch.” 

“ We’re  dining  there  to-night,”  she  told  him,  in  a listless 
voice. 

Upon  Ethel  Wing  had  descended  the  dominating  char- 
acteristics of  the  elder  James,  who,  whatever  the  power  he 
might  wield  in  Wall  Street,  was  little  more  than  a visitor 
in  Newport.  It  was  Ethel’s  house,  from  the  hour  she  had 
swept  the  Reel  and  Carter  plans  (which  her  father  had 
brought  home)  from  the  table  and  sent  for  Mr.  Farwell. 
The  forehanded  Reginald  arrived  with  a sketch,  and  the 
result,  as  every  one  knows,  is  one  of  the  chief  monuments 
to  his  reputation.  So  exquisitely  proportioned  is  its  sim- 
ple, two-storied  marble  front  as  seen  through  the  trees  left 
standing  on  the  old  estate,  that  tourists,  having  beheld  the 
Chamberlin  and  other  mansions,  are  apt  to  think  this  nig- 
gardly for  a palace.  Two  infolding  wings,  stretching  tow- 
ards the  water,  enclose  a court,  and  through  the  slender 
white  pillars  of  the  peristyle  one  beholds  in  fancy  the 
summer  seas  of  Greece. 

Looking  out  on  the  court,  and  sustaining  this  classic  il- 
lusion, is  a marble-paved  dining  room,  with  hangings  of 
Pompeiian  red,  and  frescoes  of  nymphs  and  satyrs  and  pip- 
ing shepherds,  framed  between  fluted  pilasters,  dimly  dis- 
cernible in  the  soft  lights. 

In  the  midst  of  these  surroundings,  at  the  head  of  his 
table,  sat  the  great  financier  whose  story  but  faintly  con- 
cerns this  chronicle  ; the  man  who,  every  day  that  he  had 
spent  down  town  in  New  York  in  the  past  thirty  years,  had 
eaten  the  same  meal  in  the  same  little  restaurant  under  the 
street.  This  he  told  Honora,  on  his  left,  as  though  it  were 
not  history.  He  preferred  apple  pie  to  the  greatest  of 
artistic  triumphs  of  his  daughter’s  chef,  and  had  it ; a 
glorified  apple  pie,  with  frills  and  furbelows,  and  whipped 
cream  which  he  angrily  swept  to  one  side  with  contempt. 

“ That  isn’t  apple  pie,”  he  said.  “ I’d  like  to  take  that 


350 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


If 


Frenchman  to  the  little  New  England  hill-  / ^ ^ 

town  where  I went  to  school  and  show  him 
what  apple  pie  is.” 

Such  were  the  autobiographical  snatches  - 
— by  no  means  so  crude  as  they  sound  — 
that  reached  her  intelligence  from  time  to  4.  ^ 
time.  Mr.  W ing  was  too  subtle  to  be  crude ; 
and  he  had  married  a Playfair,  a family 
noted  for  good  living.  Honora  did  not  know  that  he  was 
fond  of  talking  of  that  apple  pie  and  the  New  England 
school  at  public  banquets  ; nor  did  Mr.  Wing  suspect  that 
the  young  woman  whom  he  was  apparently  addressing,  and 
who  seemed  to  be  hanging  on  his  words,  was  not  present. 


THE  SURVIVAL  OF  THE  FITTEST 


351 


It  was  not  until  she  had  put  her  napkin  on  the  table  that 
she  awoke  with  a start  and  gazed  into  his  face  and  saw 
written  there  still  another  history  than  the  one  he  had  been 
telling  her.  The  face  was  hidden,  indeed,  by  the  red  beard. 
What  she  read  was  in  the  little  eyes  that  swept  her  with 
a look  of  possession  : possession  in  a large  sense,  let  it  be 
emphasized,  that  an  exact  justice  be  done  Mr.  James  Wing, 
— she  was  one  of  the  many  chattels  over  which  his  owner- 
ship extended ; bought  and  paid  for  with  her  husband. 
A hot  resentment  ran  through  her  at  the  thought. 

Mr.  Cuthbert,  who  was  many  kinds  of  a barometer, 
sought  her  out  later  in  the  courtyard. 

“Your  husband’s  feeling  tiptop,  isn’t  he?”  said  he. 
“ He’s  been  locked  up  with  old  Wing  all  day.  Some- 
thing’s in  the  wind,  and  I’d  give  a good  deal  to  know 
what  it  is.” 

“ I’m  afraid  I can’t  inform  you,”  replied  Honora. 

Mr.  Cuthbert  apologized. 

“ Oh,  I didn’t  mean  to  ask  you  for  a tip,”  he  declared, 
quite  confused.  “ I didn’t  suppose  you  knew.  The  old 
man  is  getting  ready  to  make  another  killing,  that’s  all. 
You  don’t  mind  my  telling  you  you  look  stunning  to- 
night, do  you  ? ” 

Honora  smiled. 

“No,  I don’t  mind,”  she  said. 

Mr.  Cuthbert  appeared  to  be  ransacking  the  corners  of 
his  brain  for  words. 

“I  was  watching  you  to-night  at  the  table  while  Mr. 
Wing  was  talking  to  you.  I don’t  believe  you  heard  a 
thing  he  said.” 

“ Such  astuteness,”  she  answered,  smiling  at  him, 
“astounds  me.” 

He  laughed  nervously. 

“You’re  different  than  you’ve  ever  been  since  I’ve 
known  you,”  he  went  on,  undismayed.  “ I hope  you  won’t 
think  I’m  making  love  to  you.  Not  that  I shouldn’t  like 
to,  but  I’ve  got  sense  enough  to  see  it’s  no  use.” 

Her  reply  was  unexpected. 

“ What  makes  you  think  that  ? ” she  asked  curiously. 


352 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


44  Oh,  I’m  not  a fool,”  said  Mr.  Cuthbert.  44  But  if  I 
were  a poet,  or  that  fellow  Deming,  I might  be  able  to 
tell  yon  what  your  eyes  were  like  to-night.” 

44  I’m  glad  you’re  not,”  said  Honora. 

As  they  were  going  in,  she  turned  for  a lingering  look 
at  the  sea.  A strong  young  moon  rode  serenely  in  the 
sky  and  struck  a path  of  light  across  the  restless  waters. 
Along  this  shimmering  way  the  eyes  of  her  companion 
followed  hers. 

44 1 can  tell  you  what  that  colour  is,  at  least.  Do  you 
remember  the  blue,  transparent  substance  that  used  to  be 
on  favours  at  children’s  parties?”  he  asked.  44  There  were 
caps  inside  of  them,  and  crackers.” 

44 1 believe  you  are  a poet,  after  all,”  she  said. 

A shadow  fell  across  the  flags.  Honora  did  not  move. 

44  Hello,  Chiltern,”  said  Cuthbert.  44 1 thought  you  were 
playing  bridge.  ...” 

44  You  haven’t  looked  at  me  once  to-night,”  he  said, 
when  Cuthbert  had  gone  in. 

She  was  silent. 

44  Are  you  angry?” 

44  Yes,  a little,”  she  answered.  44  Do  you  blame  me?” 

The  vibration  of  his  voice  in  the  moonlit  court  awoke 
an  answering  chord  in  her ; and  a note  of  supplication 
from  him  touched  her  strangely.  Logic  in  his  presence 
was  a little  difficult  — there  can  be  no  doubt  of  that. 

44 1 must  go  in,”  she  said  unsteadily,  44  my  carriage  is 
waiting.” 

But  he  stood  in  front  of  her. 

44 1 should  have  thought  you  would  have  gone,”  she 
said. 

44 1 wanted  to  see  you  again.” 

44  And  now  ? ” 

44 1 can’t  leave  while  you  feel  this  way,”  he  pleaded. 
44 1 can’t  abandon  what  I have  of  you  — what  you  will 
let  me  take.  If  I told  you  I would  be  reasonable  — ” 

44 1 don’t  believe  in  miracles,”  she  said,  recovering  a 
little  ; 44  at  least  in  modern  ones.  The  question  is,  could 
you  become  reasonable  ? ” 


THE  SURVIVAL  OF  THE  FITTEST 


353 


“ As  a last  resort,”  lie  replied,  with  a flash  of  humour 
and  a touch  of  hope.  “If  you  would — commute  my 
sentence.” 

She  passed  him,  and  picking  up  her  skirts,  paused  in 
the  window. 

“ I will  give  you  one  more  chance,”  she  said. 

This  was  the  conversation  that,  by  repeating  itself, 
filled  the  interval  of  her  drive  home.  So  oblivious  was 
she  to  Howard’s  presence,  that  he  called  her  twice  from 
her  corner  of  the  carriage  after  the  vehicle  had  stopped  ; 
and  he  halted  her  by  seizing  her  arm  as  she  was  about  to 
go  up  the  stairs.  She  followed  him  mechanically  into  the 
drawing-room. 

He  closed  the  door  behind  them,  and  the  other  door 
into  the  darkened  dining  room.  He  even  took  a precau- 
tionary glance  out  of  the  window  of  the  porch.  And 
these  movements,  which  ordinarily  might  have  aroused 
her  curiosity,  if  not  her  alarm,  she  watched  with  a profound 
indifference.  He  took  a stand  before  the  Japanese  screen 
in  front  of  the  fireplace,  thrust  his  hands  in  his  pockets, 
cleared  his  throat,  and  surveyed  her  from  her  white 
shoulders  to  the  gold-embroidered  tips  of  her  slippers. 

“ I’m  leaving  for  the  West  in  the  morning,  Honora.  If 
you’ve  made  any  arrangements  for  me  on  Sunday,  you’ll 
have  to  cancel  them.  I may  be  gone  two  weeks,  I may 
be  gone  a month.  I don’t  know.” 

“ Yes,”  she  said. 

“ I’m  going  to  tell  you  something  those  fellows  in  the 
smoking  room  to-night  did  their  best  to  screw  out  of  me. 
If  you  say  anything  about  it,  all’s  up  between  me  and 
Wing.  The  fact  that  he  picked  me  out  to  engineer  the 
thing,  and  that  he’s  going  to  let  me  in  if  I push  it  through, 
is  a pretty  good  sign  that  he  thinks  something  of  my  busi- 
ness ability,  eh  ? ” 

“ You’d  better  not  tell  me,  Howard,”  she  said. 

“You’re  too  clever  to  let  it  out,”  he  assured  her;  and 
added  with  a chuckle:  “If  it  goes  through,  order  what 
you  like.  Rent  a house  on  Bellevue  Avenue  — anything 
in  reason.” 


354 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


“ What  is  it  ? ” she  asked,  with  a sudden  premonition 
that  the  thing  had  a vital  significance  for  her. 

“It’s  the  greatest  scheme  extant,”  he  answered  with 
elation.  44  I won’t  go  into  details  — you  wouldn’t  under- 
stand ’em.  Mr.  Wing  and  some  others  have  tried  the  thing 
before,  nearer  home,  and  it  worked  like  a charm.  Street 
railways.  W e buy  up  the  little  lines  for  nothing,  and  get 
an  interest  in  the  big  ones,  and  sell  the  little  lines  for  fifty 
times  what  they  cost  us,  and  guarantee  big  dividends  for 
the  big  lines.” 

44  It  sounds  to  me,”  said  Honora,  slowly,  44  as  though 
some  one  would  get  cheated.” 

44  Some  one  get  cheated  ! ” he  exclaimed,  laughing. 
44  Every  one  gets  cheated,  as  you  call  it,  if  they  haven’t 
enough  sense  to  know  what  their  property’s  worth,  and 
how  to  use  it  to  the  best  advantage.  It’s  a case,”  he  an- 
nounced, 44  of  the  survival  of  the  fittest.  Which  reminds 
me  that  if  I’m  going  to  be  fit  to-morrow  I’d  better  go  to 
bed.  Mr.  Wing’s  to  take  me  to  New  York  on  his  yacht, 
and  you’ve  got  to  have  your  wits  about  you  when  you 
talk  to  the  old  man.” 


CHAPTER  VI 


CLIO,  OR  THALIA  ? 

According  to  the  ordinary  and  inaccurate  method  of 
measuring  time,  a fortnight  may  have  gone  by  since  the 
event  last  narrated,  and  Honora  had  tasted  at  last  the  joys 
of  authorship.  Her  name  was  not  to  appear,  to  be  sure, 
on  the  cover  of  the  Life  and  Letters  of  General  Angus 
Chiltern;  nor  indeed,  so  far,  had  she  written  so  much  as  a 
chapter  or  a page  of  a work  intended  to  inspire  young  and 
old  with  the  virtues  of  citizenship.  At  present  the  bi- 
ography was  in  the  crucial  constructive  stage.  Should  the 
letters  be  put  in  one  volume,  and  the  life  in  another  ? or 
should  the  letters  be  inserted  in  the  text  of  the  life  ? or 
could  not  there  be  a third  and  judicious  mixture  of  both 
of  these  methods  ? Honora’s  counsel  on  this  and  other 
problems  was,  it  seems,  invaluable.  Her  own  table  was 
fairly  littered  with  biographies  more  or  less  famous  which 
had  been  fetched  from  the  library,  and  the  method  of  each 
considered. 

Even  as  Mr.  Garrick  would  never  have  been  taken  for 
an  actor  in  his  coach  and  four,  so  our  heroine  did  not  in 
the  least  resemble  George  Eliot,  for  instance,  as  she  sat 
before  her  mirror  at  high  noon  with  Monsieur  Cadron  and 
her  maid  Mathilde  in  worshipful  attendance.  Some  of  the 
ladies,  indeed,  who  have  left  us  those  chatty  memoirs  of 
the  days  before  the  guillotine,  she  might  have  been  likened 
to.  Monsieur  Cadron  was  an  artist,  and  his  branch  of  art 
was  liair-dressing.  It  was  by  his  own  wish  he  was  here 
to-day,  since  he  had  conceived  a new  coiffure  especially 
adapted,  he  declared,  to  the  type  of  Madame  Spence.  Be- 

355 


356 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


hold  him  declaring  ecstatically  that  seldom  in  his  experi- 
ence had  he  had  such  hairs  to  work  with. 

44  Avec  une  telle  chevelure,  l’on  peut  tout  faire,  madame. 
Etre  simple,  c’est  le  comble  de  Fart.  Ca  vous  donne,”  he 
added,  with  clasped  hands  and  a step  backward,  44  ca  vous 
donne  tout  a fait  Fair  d’une  dame  de  Nattier.” 

Madame  took  the  hand-glass,  and  did  not  deny  that  she 
was  eblouissante.  If  madame,  suggested  Monsieur  Cadron, 
had  but  a little  dress  a la  Marie  Antoinette  ? Madame 
had,  cried  madame’s  maid,  running  to  fetch  one  with 
little  pink  flowers  and  green  leaves  on  an  ecru  ground. 
Could  any  coiffure  or  any  gown  be  more  appropriate  for  an 
entertainment  at  which  Clio  was  to  preside  ? 

It  is  obviously  impossible  that  a masterpiece  should  be 
executed  under  the  rules  laid  down  by  convention.  It 
would  never  be  finished.  Mr.  Chiltern  was  coming  to 
lunch,  and  it  was  not  the  first  time.  On  her  appearance 
in  the  doorway  he  halted  abruptly  in  his  pacing  of  the 
drawing-room,  and  stared  at  her. 

44  I’m  sorry  I kept  you  waiting,”  she  said. 

44  It  was  worth  it,”  he  said.  And  they  entered  the 
dining  room.  A subdued,  golden-green  light  came  in 
through  the  tall  glass  doors  that  opened  out  on  the  little 
garden  which  had  been  Mrs.  Forsythe’s  pride.  The  scent 
of  roses  was  in  the  air,  and  a mass  of  them  filled  a silver 
bowl  in  the  middle  of  the  table.  On  the  dark  walls  were 
Mrs.  Forsythe’s  precious  prints,  and  above  the  mantel  a 
portrait  of  a thin,  aristocratic  gentleman  who  resembled 
the  poet  Tennyson.  In  the  noonday  shadows  of  a recess 
was  a dark  mahogany  sideboard  loaded  with  softly  gleam- 
ing silver  — Honora’s.  Chiltern  sat  down  facing  her. 
He  looked  at  Honora  over  the  roses,  — and  she  looked  at 
him.  A sense  of  unreality  that  was,  paradoxically,  stronger 
than  reality  itself  came  over  her,  a sense  of  fitness,  of 
harmony.  And  for  the  moment  an  imagination,  ever 
straining  at  its  leash,  was  allowed  to  soar.  It  was  Chiltern 
who  broke  the  silence. 

44  What  a wonderful  bowl  ! ” he  said. 

44  It  has  been  in  my  father’s  family  a great  many  years. 


CLIO,  OR  THALIA? 


357 


He  was  very  fond  of  it,”  she  answered,  and  with  a sudden, 
impulsive  movement  she  reached  over  and  set  the  bowl 
aside. 

44  That’s  better,”  he  declared,  44  much  as  I admire  the 
bowl,  and  the  roses.” 

She  coloured  faintly,  and  smiled.  The  feast  of  reason 
that  we  are  impatiently  awaiting  is  deferred.  It  were 
best  to  attempt  to  record  the  intangible  things ; the  golden- 
green  light,  the  perfumes,  and  the  faint  musical  laughter 
which  we  can  hear  if  we  listen.  Thalia’s  laughter,  surely, 
not  Clio’s.  Thalia,  enamoured  with  such  a theme,  has 
taken  the  stage  herself  — and  as  Yesta,  goddess  of  hearths. 
It  was  Yesta  whom  they  felt  to  be  presiding.  They  lin- 
gered, therefore,  over  the  coffee,  and  Chiltern  lighted  a 
cigar.  He  did  not  smoke  cigarettes. 

44  I’ve  lived  long  enough,”  he  said,  44  to  know  that  I 
have  never  lived  at  all.  There  is  only  one  thing  in  life 
worth  having.” 

44  What  is  it  ? ” asked  Honora. 

44 This,”  he  answered,  with  a gesture;  “when  it  is 
permanent.” 

She  smiled. 

44  And  how  is  one  to  know  whether  it  would  be  — 
permanent  ? ” 

44  Through  experience  and  failure,”  he  answered  quickly, 
44  we  learn  to  distinguish  the  reality  when  it  comes.  It  is 
unmistakable.” 

44  Suppose  it  comes  too  late  ? ” she  said,  forgetting  the 
ancient  verse  inscribed  in  her  youthful  diary  : 44  Those 
who  walk  on  ice  will  slide  against  their  wills.” 

44  To  admit  that  is  to  be  a coward,”  he  declared. 

44  Such  a philosophy  may  be  fitting  for  a man,”  she  re- 
plied, 44  but  for  a woman  — ” 

44  We  are  no  longer  in  the  dark  ages,”  he  interrupted. 
44  Every  one,  man  or  woman,  has  the  right  to  happiness. 
There  is  no  reason  why  we  should  suffer  all  our  lives  for 
a mistake.” 

44  A mistake  ! ” she  echoed. 

44  Certainly,”  he  said.  44  It  is  all  a matter  of  luck,  or 


358 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


fate,  or  whatever  you  choose  to  call  it.  Do  you  suppose, 
if  I could  have  found  fifteen  years  ago  the  woman  to  have 
made  me  happy,  I should  have  spent  so  much  time  in  seek- 
ing distraction  ? ” 

u Perhaps  you  could  not  have  been  capable  of  appreci- 
ating her  — fifteen  years  ago,”  suggested  Honora.  And, 
lest  he  might  misconstrue  her  remark,  she  avoided  his 
eyes. 

44  Perhaps,”  he  admitted.  44  But  suppose  I have  found 
her  now,  when  I know  the  value  of  things.” 

44  Suppose  you  should  find  her  now  — within  a reasonable 
time.  What  would  you  do  ? ” 

44  Marry  her,”  he  exclaimed  promptly.  44  Marry  her  and 
take  her  to  Grenoble,  and  live  the  life  my  father  lived  be- 
fore me.” 

She  did  not  reply,  but  rose,  and  he  followed  her  to  the 
shaded  corner  of  the  porch  where  they  usually  sat.  The 
bundle  of  yellow-stained  envelopes  he  had  brought  were  ly- 
ing on  the  table,  and  Honora  picked  them  up  mechanically. 

44 1 have  been  thinking,”  she  said  as  she  removed  the 
elastics,  44  that  it  is  a mistake  to  begin  a biography  by  the 
enumeration  of  one’s  ancestors.  Readers  become  fright- 
fully bored  before  they  get  through  the  first  chapter.” 

44  I’m  beginning  to  believe,”  he  laughed,  44  that  you  will 
have  to  write  this  one  alone.  All  the  ideas  I have  got  so 
far  have  been  yours.  Why  shouldn’t  you  write  it,  and  I 
arrange  the  material,  and  talk  about  it!  That  appears  to 
be  all  I’m  good  for.” 

If  she  allowed  her  mind  to  dwell  on  the  vista  he  thus 
presented,  she  did  not  betray  herself. 

44  Another  thing,”  she  said,  44  it  should  be  written  like 
fiction.” 

44  Like  fiction  ? ” 

44  Fact  should  be  written  like  fiction,  and  fiction  like 
fact.  It’s  difficult  to  express  what  I mean.  But  this  life 
of  your  father  deserves  to  be  widely  known,  and  it  should  be 
entertainingly  done,  like  Lockhart,  or  Parton’s  works — ” 

An  envelope  fell  to  the  floor,  spilling  its  contents. 
Among  them  were  several  photographs. 


CLIO,  OR  THALIA?  359 

44  Oh,”  she  exclaimed,  44  how  beautiful  ! What  place  is 
this  ? ” 

44 1 hadn’t  gone  over  these  letters,”  he  answered.  44 1 
only  got  them  yesterday  from  Cecil  Grainger.  These  are 
some  pictures  of  Grenoble  which  must  have  been  taken 
shortly  before  my  father  died.” 

She  gazed  in  silence  at  the  old  house  half  hidden  by 
great  maples  and  beeches,  their  weighted  branches  sweep- 
ing the  ground.  The  building  was  of  wood,  painted  white, 
and  through  an  archway  of  verdure  one  saw  the  generous 
doorway  with  its  circular  steps,  with  its  fan-light  above, 
and  its  windows  at  the  side.  Other  quaint  windows, 
some  of  them  of  triple  width,  suggested  an  interior  of 
mystery  and  interest. 

44  My  great-great-grandfather,  Alexander  Chiltern,  built 
it,”  he  said,  44  on  land  granted  to  him  before  the  Revolu- 
tion. Of  course  the  house  has  been  added  to  since  then, 
but  the  simplicity  of  the  original  has  always  been  kept. 
My  father  put  on  the  conservatory,  for  instance,”  and 
Chiltern  pointed  to  a portion  at  the  end  of  one  of  the  long 
low  wings.  44  He  got  the  idea  from  the  orangery  of  a 
Georgian  house  in  England,  and  an  English  architect  de- 
signed it.” 

Honora  took  up  the  other  photographs.  One  of  them, 
over  which  she  lingered,  was  of  a charming,  old-fashioned 
garden  spattered  with  sunlight,  and  shut  out  from  the 
world  by  a high  brick  wall.  Behind  the  wall,  again,  were 
the  dense  masses  of  the  trees,  and  at  the  end  of  a path 
between  nodding  foxgloves  and  Canterbury  bells,  in  a 
curved  recess,  a stone  seat. 

She  turned  her  face.  His  was  at  her  shoulder. 

44  How  could  you  ever  have  left  it  ? ” she  asked  re- 
proachfully. 

She  voiced  hi-s  own  regrets,  which  the  crowding  memo- 
ries had  awakened. 

44 1 don’t  know,”  he  answered,  not  without  emotion. 
44 1 have  often  asked  myself  that  question.”  He  crossed 
over  to  the  railing  of  the  porch,  swung  about,  and  looked 
at  her.  Her  eyes  were  still  on  the  picture.  44 1 can  im- 
agine you  in  that  garden,”  he  said. 


360 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


Did  the  garden  cast  the  spell  by  which  she  saw  herself 
on  the  seat  ? or  was  it  Chiltern’s  voice  ? She  would  in- 
deed love  and  cherish  it.  And  was  it  true  that  she  be- 
longed there,  securely  infolded  within  those  peaceful 
walls  ? How  marvellously  well  was  Thalia  playing  her 
comedy ! Which  was  the  real,  and  which  the  false  ? 
What  of  true  value,  what  of  peace  and  security  was  con- 


tained in  her  present  existence  ? She  had  missed  the 
meaning  of  things,  and  suddenly  it  was  held  up  before 
her,  in  a garden. 

A later  hour  found  them  in  Honora’s  runabout  wander- 
ing northward  along  quiet  country  roads  on  the  eastern 
side  of  the  island.  Chiltern,  who  was  driving,  seemed  to 
take  no  thought  of  their  direction,  until  at  last,  with  an 
exclamation,  he  stopped  the  horse  ; and  Honora  beheld 
an  abandoned  mansion  of  a bygone  age  sheltered  by 
ancient  trees,  with  wide  lands  beside  it  sloping  to  the 
water. 

“ What  is  it?  ” she  asked. 

“Beaulieu,”  he  replied.  “It  was  built  in  the  seven- 
teenth century,  I believe,  and  must  have  been  a fascinating 
place  in  colonial  days.”  He  drove  in  between  the  fences 
and  tied  the  horse,  and  came  around  by  the  side  of  the 
runabout.  “ W on’t  you  get  out  and  look  at  it  ? ” 

She  hesitated,  and  their  eyes  met  as  he  held  out  his 


CLIO,  OR  THALIA? 


361 


hand,  but  she  avoided  it  and  leaped  quickly  to  the  ground  : 
neither  spoke  as  they  walked  around  the  deserted  house 
and  gazed  at  the  quaint  fagade,  broken  by  a crumbling, 
shaded  balcony  let  in  above  the  entrance  door.  No  sound 
broke  the  stillness  of  the  summer’s  day  — a pregnant  still- 
ness. The  air  was  heavy  with  perfumes,  and  the  leaves 
formed  a tracery  against  the  marvellous  blue  of  the  sky. 
Mystery  brooded  in  the  place.  Here,  in  this  remote  para- 
dise now  in  ruins,  people  had  dwelt  and  loved.  Thought 
ended  there ; and  feeling,  which  is  unformed  thought,  be- 
gan. Again  she  glanced  at  him,  and  again  their  eyes  met, 
and  hers  faltered.  They  turned,  as  with  one  consent, 
down  the  path  toward  the  distant  water.  Paradise 
overgrown  ! Could  it  be  reconstructed,  redeemed  ? 

In  former  days  the  ground  they  trod  had  been  a pleas- 
ance  the  width  of  the  house,  bordered,  doubtless,  by  the 
forest.  Trees  grew  out  of  the  flower  beds  now,  and  un- 
derbrush choked  the  paths.  The  box  itself,  that  once 
primly  lined  the  alleys,  was  gnarled  and  shapeless. 
Labyrinth  had  replaced  order,  nature  had  reaped  her 
vengeance.  At  length,  in  the  deepening  shade,  they 
came,  at  what  had  been  the  edge  of  the  old  terrace,  to  the 
daintiest  of  summer-houses,  crumbling  too,  the  shutters 
off  their  hinges,  the  floor-boards  loose.  Past  and  gone 
were  the  idyls  of  which  it  had  been  the  stage. 

They  turned  to  the  left,  through  tangled  box  that 
wound  hither  and  thither,  until  they  stopped  at  a stone 
wall  bordering  a tree-arched  lane.  At  the  bottom  of  the 
lane  was  a glimpse  of  blue  water. 

Honora  sat  down  on  the  wall  with  her  back  to  a great 
trunk.  Chiltern,  with  a hand  on  the  stones,  leaped  over 
lightly,  and  stood  for  some  moments  in  the  lane,  his  feet 
a little  apart  and  firmly  planted,  his  hands  behind  his 
back. 

What  had  Thalia  been  about  to  allow  the  message  of 
that  morning  to  creep  into  her  comedy  ? a message  an- 
nouncing the  coming  of  an  intruder  not  in  the  play,  in 
the  person  of  a husband  bearing  gifts.  What  right  had 
he,  in  the  eternal  essence  of  things,  to  return  ? He  was 


362 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


out  of  all  time  and  place.  Such  had  been  her  feeling 
when  she  had  first  read  the  hastily  written  letter,  but 
even  when  she  had  burned  it  it  had  risen  again  from 
the  ashes.  Anything  but  that  ! In  trying  not  to  think 
of  it,  she  had  picked  up  the  newspaper,  learned  of  a 
railroad  accident,' — and  shuddered.  Anything  but  his 
return!  Her  marriage  was  a sin, — there  could  be  no 
sacrament  in  it.  She  would  flee  first,  and  abandon  all 
rather  than  submit  to  it. 

Chiltern’s  step  aroused  her  now.  He  came  back  to  the 
wall  where  she  was  sitting,  and  faced  her. 

“You  are  sad,”  he  said. 

She  shook  her  head  at  him,  slowly,  and  tried  to  smile. 

“ What  has  happened  ? ” he  demanded  rudely.  “ I 
can’t  bear  to  see  you  sad.” 

“ I am  going  away,”  she  said.  The  decision  had  sud- 
denly come  to  her.  Why  had  she  not  seen  before  that  it 
was  inevitable? 

He  seized  her  wrist  as  it  lay  on  the  wall,  and  she  winced 
from  the  sudden  pain  of  his  grip. 

“Honora,  I love  you,”  he  said,  “I  must  have  you — I 
will  have  you.  I will  make  you  happy.  I promise  it  on 
my  soul.  I can’t,  I won’t  live  without  you.” 

She  did  not  listen  to  his  words — she  could  not  have 
repeated  them  afterwards.  The  very  tone  of  his  voice 
was  changed  by  passion ; creation  spoke  through  him, 
and  she  heard  and  thrilled  and  swayed  and  soared,  for- 
getting heaven  and  earth  and  hell  as  he  seized  her  in  his 
arms  and  covered  her  face  with  kisses.  Thus  Eric  the 
Red  might  have  wooed.  And  by  what  grace  she  spoke 
the  word  that  delivered  her  she  never  knew.  As 
suddenly  as  he  had  seized  her  he  released  her,  and  she 
stood  before  him  with  flaming  cheeks  and  painful  breath. 

“I  love  you,”  he  said,  “I  love  you.  I have  searched 
the  world  for  you  and  found  you,  and  by  all  the  laws  of 
God  you  are  mine.” 

And  love  was  written  in  her  eyes.  He  had  but  to 
read  it  there,  though  her  lips  might  deny  it.  This  was 
the  man  of  all  men  she  would  have  chosen,  and  she  was 


CLIO,  OR  THALIA? 


363 


his  by  right  of  conquest.  Yet  she  held  up  her  hand  with 
a gesture  of  entreaty. 

“ No,  Hugh  — it  cannot  be,”  she  said. 

“Cannot!”  he  cried.  “I  will  take  you.  You  love 
me.” 

“ I am  married.” 

“ Married  I Do  you  mean  that  you  would  let  that 
man  stand  between  you  and  happiness  ? ” 

“ What  do  you  mean?  ” she  asked,  in  a frightened  voice. 

“Just  what  I say,”  he  cried,  with  incredible  vehe- 
mence. “Leave  him — divorce  him.  You  cannot  live 
with  him.  He  isn’t  worthy  to  touch  your  hand.” 

The  idea  planted  itself  with  the  force  of  a barbed 
arrow  from  a strong-bow.  Struggle  as  she  might,  she 
could  not  henceforth  extract  it. 

“ Oh  ! ” she  cried. 

He  took  her  arm,  gently,  and  forced  her  to  sit  down  on 
the  wall.  Such  was  the  completeness  of  his  mastery  that 
she  did  not  resist.  He  sat  down  beside  her. 

“Listen,  Honora,”  he  said,  and  tried  to  speak  calmly, 
though  his  voice  was  still  vibrant;  “let  us  look  the  situa- 
tion in  the  face.  As  I told  you  once,  the  days  of  useless 
martyrdom  are  past.  The  world  is  more  enlightened  to- 
day, and  recognizes  an  individual  right  to  happiness.” 

“To  happiness,”  she  repeated  after  him,  like  a child. 
He  forgot  his  words  as  he  looked  into  her  eyes  : they 
were  lighted  as  with  all  the  candles  of  heaven  in  his 
honour. 

“ Listen,”  he  said  hoarsely,  and  his  fingers  tightened 
on  her  arm. 

The  current  running  through  her  from  him  made  her 
his  instrument.  Did  he  say  the  sky  was  black,  she  would 
have  exclaimed  at  the  discovery. 

“Yes  — I am  listening.” 

“ Honora  ! ” 

“ Hugh,”  she  answered,  and  blinded  him.  He  was 
possessed  by  the  tragic  fear  that  she  was  acting  a dream  ; 
presently  she  would  awake  — and  shatter  the  universe. 
His  dominance  was  too  complete. 


364 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


44 1 love  you  — I respect  you.  You  are  making  it  very 
hard  for  me.  Please  try  to  understand  what  I am  say- 
ing,” he  cried  almost  fiercely.  44  This  thing,  this  miracle, 
has  happened  in  spite  of  us.  Henceforth  you  belong  to 
me  — do  you  hear?” 

Once  more  the  candles  flared  up. 

44  We  cannot  drift.  We  must  decide  now  upon  some 
definite  action.  Our  lives  are  our  own,  to  make  as  we 
choose.  You  said  you  were  going  away.  And  you  meant 
— alone  ? ” 

The  eyes  were  wide,  now,  writh  fright. 

44  Oh,  I must  — I must,”  she  said.  “Don’t  — don’t 
talk  about  it.”  And  she  put  forth  a hand  over  his. 

44 1 will  talk  about  it,”  he  declared,  trembling.  44 1 have 
thought  it  all  out,”  and  this  time  it  was  her  fingers  that 
tightened.  44  You  are  going  away.  And  presently  — 
when  you  are  free  — I will  come  to  you.” 

For  a moment  the  current  stopped. 

44  No,  no  ! ” she  cried,  almost  in  terror.  The  first  fatal- 
ist must  have  been  a woman,  and  the  vision  of  rent  prison 
bars  drove  her  mad.  44  No,  we  could  never  be  happy.” 

44  We  can  — we  will  be  happy,”  he  said,  with  a convic- 
tion that  was  unshaken.  44  Do  you  hear  me?  I will  not 
debase  what  I have  to  say  by  resorting  to  comparisons. 
But  — others  I know  have  been  happy  — are  happy, 
though  their  happiness  cannot  be  spoken  of  with  ours. 
Listen.  You  will  go  away  — for  a little  while  — and 
afterwards  we  shall  be  together  for  all  time.  Nothing 
shall  separate  us.  We  never  have  known  life,  either  of 
us,  until  now.  I,  missing  you,  have  run  after  the  false 
gods.  And  you  — I say  it  with  truth  — needed  me.  We 
will  go  to  live  at  Grenoble,  as  my  father  and  mother  lived. 
We  will  take  up  their  duties  there.  And  if  it  seems  pos- 
sible, I will  go  into  public  life.  When  I return,  I shall 
find  you  waiting  for  me  — in  the  garden.” 

So  real  had  the  mirage  become,  that  Honora  did  not 
answer.  The  desert  and  its  journey  fell  away.  Could 
such  a thing,  after  all,  be  possible?  Did  fate  deal  twice 
to  those  whom  she  had  made  novices?  The  mirage,  in- 


CLIO,  OR  THALIA? 


365 


deed,  suddenly  became  reality  — a mirage  only  because 
she  had  proclaimed  it  such.  She  had  beheld  in  it,  as  he 
spoke,  a Grenoble  which  was  paradise  regained.  And  why 
should  paradise  regained  be  a paradox?  Why  paradise 
regained?  Paradise  gained.  She  had  never  known  it, 
until  he  had  flung  wide  the  gates.  She  had  sought  for 
it,  and  never  found  it  until  now,  and  her  senses  doubted 
it.  It  was  a paradise  of  love,  to  be  sure;  but  one, 
too,  of  duty.  Duty  made  it  real.  Work  was  there, 
and  fulfilment  of  the  purpose  of  life  itself.  And  if  his 
days  hitherto  had  been  useless,  hers  had  in  truth  been 
barren. 

It  was  only  of  late,  after  a life-long  groping,  that  she 
had  discovered  their  barrenness.  The  right  to  happiness! 
Could  she  begin  anew,  and  found  it  upon  a rock?  And 
was  he  the  rock  ? 

The  question  startled  her,  and  she  drew  away  from  him 
first  her  hand,  and  then  she  turned  her  body,  staring  at 
him  with  widened  eyes.  He  did  not  resist  the  movement; 
nor  could  he,  being  male,  divine  what  was  passing  within 
her,  though  he  watched  her  anxiously.  She  had  no 
thought  of  the  first  days,  — but  afterwards.  For  at  such 
times  it  is  the  woman  who  scans  the  veil  of  the  future. 
How  long  would  that  beacon  burn  which  flamed  now  in 
such  prodigal  waste  ? W ould  not  the  very  springs  of  it 
dry  up?  She  looked  at  him,  and  she  saw  the  Viking. 
But  the  Viking  had  fled  from  the  world,  and  they  — they 
would  be  going  into  it.  Could  love  prevail  against  its 
dangers  and  pitfalls  and  — duties  ? Love  was  the  word 
that  rang  out,  as  one  calling  through  the  garden,  and  her 
thoughts  ran  molten.  Let  love  overflow— -she  gloried 
in  the  waste ! And  let  the  lean  years  come,  — she  defied 
them  to-day. 

“ Oh,  Hugh  ! ” she  faltered. 

“ My  dearest  ! ” he  cried,  and  would  have  seized  her  in 
his  arms  again  but  for  a look  of  supplication.  That  he 
had  in  him  this  innate  and  unsuspected  chivalry  filled  her 
with  an  exquisite  sweetness. 

“ You  will  — protect  me  ? ” she  asked. 


366 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


44  With  my  life  and  with  my  honour,”  he  answered. 
44  Honora,  there  will  be  no  happiness  like  ours.” 

44 1 wish  I knew,”  she  sighed:  and  then,  her  look  return- 
ing from  the  veil,  rested  on  him  with  a tenderness  that 
was  inexpressible.  44 1 — I don’t  care,  Hugh.  I trust 
you.” 

The  sun  was  setting.  Slowly  they  went  back  together 
through  the  paths  of  the  tangled  garden,  which  had  doubt- 
less seen  many  dramas,  and  the  courses  changed  of  many 
lives:  overgrown  and  outworn  now,  yet  love  was  loth 
to  leave  it.  Honora  paused  on  the  lawn  before  the 
house,  and  looked  back  at  him  over  her  shoulder. 

44  How  happy  we  could  have  been  here,  in  those  days,” 
she  sighed. 

44  We  will  be  happier  there,”  he  said. 

Honora  loved.  Many  times  in  her  life  had  she  be- 
lieved herself  to  have  had  this  sensation,  and  yet  had 
known  nothing  of  these  aches  and  ecstasies  ! Her  mortal 
body,  unattended,  went  out  to  dinner  that  evening. 
Never,  it  is  said,  was  her  success  more  pronounced.  The 
charm  of  Randolph  Leffingwell,  which  had  fascinated  the 
nobility  of  three  kingdoms,  had  descended  on  her,  and 
hostesses  had  discovered  that  she  possessed  the  magic 
touch  necessary  to  make  a dinner  complete.  Her  quality, 
as  we  know,  was  not  wit:  it  was  something  as  old  as  the 
world,  as  new  as  modern  psychology.  It  was,  in  short, 
the  power  to  stimulate.  She  infused  a sense  of  well- 
being; and  ordinary  people,  in  her  presence,  surprised 
themselves  by  saying  clever  things. 

Lord  Ayllington,  a lean,  hard-riding  gentleman,  who  was 
supposed  to  be  on  the  verge  of  contracting  an  alliance 
with  the  eldest  of  the  Grenfell  girls,  regretted  that  Mrs. 
Spence  was  neither  unmarried  nor  an  heiress. 

44  You  know,”  he  said  to  Cecil  Grainger,  who  happened 
to  be  gracing  his  wife’s  dinner-party,  44  she’s  the  sort  of 
woman  for  whom  a man  might  consent  to  live  in  Venice.” 

44  And  she’s  the  sort  of  woman,”  replied  Mr.  Grainger, 
44  a man  couldn’t  get  to  go  to  Venice.” 


CLIO,  OR  THALIA? 


367 


Lord  Ayllington’s  sigh  was  a proof  of  an  intimate  know- 
ledge of  the  world. 

“ I suppose  not,”  he  said.  “ It’s  always  so.  And  there 
are  few  American  women  who  would  throw  everything 
overboard  for  a grand  passion.” 

“ You  ought  to  see  her  on  the  beach,”  Mr.  Grainger 
suggested. 

“ I intend  to,”  said  Ayllington.  “ By  the  way,  not  a few 
of  your  American  women  get  divorced,  and  keep  their 
cake  and  eat  it,  too.  It’s  a bit  difficult,  here  at  Newport, 
for  a stranger,  you  know.” 

“ I’m  willing  to  bet,”  declared  Mr.  Grainger,  “ that  it 
doesn’t  pay.  When  you’re  divorced  and  married  again 
you’ve  got  to  keep  up  appearances — the  first  time  you 
don’t.  Some  of  these  people  are  working  pretty  hard.” 

Whereupon,  for  the  Englishman’s  enlightenment,  he 
recounted  a little  gossip. 

This,  of  course,  was  in  the  smoking  room.  In  the 
drawing-room,  Mrs.  Grainger’s  cousin  did  not  escape,  and 
the  biography  was  the  subject  of  laughter. 

“You  see  something  of  him,  I hear,”  remarked  Mrs. 
Playfair,  a lady  the  deficiency  of  whose  neck  was  supplied 
by  jewels,  and  whose  conversation  sounded  like  liquid 
coming  out  of  an  inverted  bottle.  “ Is  he  really  serious 
about  the  biography  ? ” 

“You’ll  have  to  ask  Mr.  Grainger,”  replied  Honora. 

“ Hugh  ought  to  marry,”  Mrs.  Grenfell  observed. 

“ Why  did  he  come  back  ? ” inquired  another  who  had 
just  returned  from  a prolonged  residence  abroad.  “ Was 
there  a woman  in  the  case  ? ” 

“ Put  it  in  the  plural,  and  you’ll  be  nearer  right,” 
laughed  Mrs.  Grenfell,  and  added  to  Honora,  “ You’d 
best  take  care,  my  dear,  he’s  dangerous.” 

Honora  seemed  to  be  looking  down  on  them  from  a 
great  height,  and  to  Reginald  Farwell  alone  is  due  the 
discovery  of  this  altitude  ; his  reputation  for  astuteness, 
after  that  evening,  was  secure.  He  had  sat  next  her,  and 
had  merely  put  two  and  two  together  — an  operation  that 
is  probably  at  the  root  of  most  prophecies.  More  than 


368 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


once  that  summer  Mr.  Farwell  had  taken  sketches  down 
Honora’s  lane,  for  she  was  on  what  was  known  as  his 
list  of  advisers:  a sheepfold  of  ewes,  some  one  had  called 
it,  and  he  was  always  piqued  when  one  of  them  went 
astray.  In  addition  to  this,  intuition  told  him  that  he 
had  taken  the  name  of  a deity  in  vain  — and  that  deity 
was  Chiltern.  These  reflections  resulted  in  another  after- 
dinner  conversation  to  which  we  are  not  supposed  to 
listen. 

He  found  Jerry  Shorter  in  a receptive  mood,  and  drew 
him  into  Cecil  Grainger’s  study,  where  this  latter  gentle- 
man, when  awake,  carried  on  his  lifework  of  keeping  a 
record  of  prize  winners. 

44  I believe  there  is  something  between  Mrs.  Spence  and 
Hugh  Chiltern,  after  all,  Jerry,”  he  said. 

“ By  jinks,  you  don’t  say  so  ! ” exclaimed  Mr.  Shorter, 
who  had  a profound  respect  for  his  friend’s  diagnoses  in 
these  matters.  44  She  was  dazzling  to-night,  and  her  eyes 
were  like  stars.  I passed  her  in  the  hall  just  now,  and  I 
might  as  well  have  been  in  Halifax.” 

44  She  fairly  withered  me  when  I made  a little  fun  of 
Chiltern,”  declared  Farwell. 

44 1 tell  you  what  it  is,  Reggie,”  remarked  Mr.  Shorter, 
with  more  frankness  than  tact, 44  you  could  talk  architecture 
with  ’em  from  now  to  Christmas,  and  nothing’d  happen, 
but  it  would  take  an  iceberg  to  write  a book  with  Hugh 
and  see  him  alone  six  days  out  of  seven.  Chiltern  knocks 
women  into  a cocked  hat.  I’ve  seen  ’em  stark  raving 
crazy.  Why,  there  was  that  Mrs.  Slicer  six  or  seven 
years  ago  — you  remember  — that  Cecil  Grainger  had 
such  a deuce  of  a time  with.  And  there  was  Mrs. 
Dutton  — I was  a committee  to  see  her,  when  the  old 
General  was  alive,  — to  say  nothing  about  a good  many 
women  you  and  I know.” 

Mr.  Farwell  nodded. 

44 I’m  confoundedly  sorry  if  it’s  so,”  Mr.  Shorter  con- 
tinued, with  sincerity.  44  She  has  a brilliant  future  ahead 
of  her.  She’s  got  good  blood  in  her,  she’s  stunning  to 
look  at,  and  she’s  made  her  own  way  in  spite  of  that  Billy- 


CLIO,  OR  THALIA? 


369 


cock  of  a husband  who  talks  like  the  original  Rothschild. 
By  the  bye,  Wing  is  using  him  for  a good  thing.  He’s 
sent  him  out  West  to  pull  that  street  railway  chestnut  out 
of  the  fire.  I’m  not  particularly  squeamish,  Reggie,  though 
I try  to  play  the  game  straight  myself — the  way  my 
father  played  it.  But  by  the  lord  Harry,  I can’t  see  the 
difference  between  Dick  Turpin  and  Wing  and  Trixy 
Brent.  It’s  hold  and  deliver  with  those  fellows.  But  if 
the  police  get  anybody,  they  get  Spence.” 

44  The  police  never  get  anybody,”  said  Farwell,  pessi- 
mistically; for  the  change  of  topic  bored  him. 

44  No,  I suppose  they  don’t,”  answered  Mr.  Shorter, 
cheerfully  finishing  his  chartreuse,  and  fixing  his  eye  on 
one  of  the  coloured  lithographs  of  lean  horses  on  Cecil 
Grainger’s  wall.  44  I’d  talk  to  Hugh,  if  I wasn’t  as  much 
afraid  of  him  as  of  Jim  Jeffries.  I don’t  want  to  see  him 
ruin  her  career.” 

44  Why  should  an  affair  with  him  ruin  it?”  asked  Far- 
well,  unexpectedly.  44  There  was  Constance  Witherspoon. 
I understand  that  went  pretty  far.” 

44  My  dear  boy,”  said  Mr.  Shorter,  44  it’s  the  women. 
Bessie  Grainger  here,  for  instance  — she’d  go  right  up  in 
the  air.  And  the  women  had  — well,  a childhood  interest 
in  Constance.  Self-preservation  is  the  first  law  — of 
women.” 

44  They  say  Hugh  has  changed  — that  he  wants  to  settle 
down,”  said  Farwell. 

44  If  you’d  ever  gone  to  church,  Reggie,”  said  Mr.  Shorter, 
44  you’d  know  something  about  the  limitations  of  the 
leopard.” 


CHAPTER  YII 


“ LIBERTY,  AND  THE  PURSUIT  OF  HAPPINESS” 

That  night  was  Honora’s  soul  played  upon  by  the  un- 
known musician  of  the  sleepless  hours.  Now  a mad, 
ecstatic  chorus  dinned  in  her  ears  and  set  her  blood  cours- 
ing ; and  again  despair  seized  her  with  a dirge.  Periods 
of  semiconsciousness  only  came  to  her,  and  from  one  of 
these  she  was  suddenly  startled  into  wakefulness  by  her 
own  words.  “ I have  the  right  to  make  of  my  life  what  I 
can.”  But  when  she  beheld  the  road  of  terrors  that 
stretched  between  her  and  the  shining  places,  it  seemed 
as  though  she  would  never  have  the  courage  to  fare  forth 
along  its  way.  To  look  back  was  to  survey  a prospect  even 
more  dreadful. 

The  incidents  of  her  life  ranged  by  in  procession.  Not 
in  natural  sequence,  but  a group  here  and  a group  there. 
And  it  was  given  her,  for  the  first  time,  to  see  many  things 
clearly.  But  now  she  loved.  God  alone  knew  what  she 
felt  for  this  man,  and  when  she  thought  of  him  the  very 
perils  of  her  path  were  dwarfed.  On  returning  home  that 
night  she  had  given  her  maid  her  cloak,  and  had  stood  for 
a long  time  immobile,  gazing  at  her  image  in  the  pier- 
glass. 

“ Madame  est  belle  comme  ITmperatrice  d’Autriche ! ” 
said  the  maid  at  length. 

“Am  I really  beautiful,  Mathilde  ? ” 

Mathilde  raised  her  eyes  and  hands  to  heaven  in  a 
gesture  that  admitted  no  doubt.  Mathilde,  moreover, 
could  read  a certain  kind  of  history  if  the  print  were  large 
enough. 

Honora  looked  in  the  glass  again.  Yes,  she  was  beauti- 
ful. He  had  found  her  so,  he  had  told  her  so.  And  here 
was  the  testimony  of  her  own  eyes.  The  bloom  on  the 

370 


“ LIBERTY,  AND  PURSUIT  OF  HAPPINESS  ” 371 


nectarines  that  came  every  morning  from  Mr.  Chamber- 
lin’s greenhouse  could  not  compare  with  the  colour  of  her 
cheeks  ; her  hair  was  like  the  dusk  ; her  eyes  like  the  blue 
pools  among  the  rocks,  and  touched  now  by  the  sun  ; her 
neck  and  arms  of  the  whiteness  of  sea-foam.  It  was 
meet  that  she  should  be  thus  for  him  and  for  the  love  he 
brought  her. 

She  turned  suddenly  to  the  maid. 

“ Do  you  love  me,  Mathilde?”  she  asked. 

Mathilde  was  not  surprised.  She  was,  on  the  contrary, 
profoundly  touched. 

“ How  can  madame  ask  ? ” she  cried  impulsively,  and 
seized  Honora’s  hand.  How  was  it  possible  to  be  near 
madame,  and  not  love  her  ? 

“ And  would  you  go  — anywhere  with  me  ? ” 

The  scene  came  back  to  her  in  the  night  watches.  For 
the  little  maid  had  wept  and  vowed  eternal  fidelity. 

It  was  not  until  the  first  faint  herald  of  the  morning 
that  Honora  could  bring  herself  to  pronounce  the  fateful 
thing  that  stood  between  her  and  happiness,  that  threat- 
ened to  mar  the  perfection  of  a heaven-born  love  — Divorce  ! 
And  thus,  having  named  it  resolutely  several  times,  the 
demon  of  salvation  began  gradually  to  assume  a kindly 
aspect  that  at  times  became  almost  benign.  In  fact,  this 
one  was  not  a demon  at  all,  but  a liberator  : the  demon, 
she  perceived,  stalked  behind  him,  and  his  name  was 
Notoriety.  It  was  he  who  would  flay  her  for  coquet- 
ting with  the  liberator. 

What  if  she  were  flayed  ? Once  married  to  Chiltern, 
once  embarked  upon  that  life  of  usefulness,  once  firmly 
established  on  ground  of  her  own  tilling,  and  she  was 
immune.  And  this  led  her  to  a consideration  of  those 
she  knew  who  had  been  flayed.  They  were  not  few,  and 
a surfeit  of  publicity  is  a sufficient  reason  for  not  enu- 
merating them  here.  And  during  this  process  of  exorcism 
Notoriety  became  a bogey,-  too  : he  had  been  powerless  to 
hurt  them.  It  must  be  true  what  Chiltern  had  said  — 
that  the  world  was  changing.  The  tragic  and  the  ridicu- 
lous here  joining  hands,  she  remembered  that  Reggie 


372 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


Farwell  had  told  her  that  he  had  recently  made  a trip  to 
western  New  York  to  inspect  a house  he  had  built  for  a 
“ remarried  ” couple  who  were  not  wholly  unknown. 
The  dove-cote,  he  had  called  it.  The  man,  in  his  former 
marriage,  had  been  renowned  all  up  and  down  tidewater 
as  a rake  and  a brute,  and  now  it  was  an  exception 
when  he  did  not  have  at  least  one  baby  on  his  knee.  And 
he  knew,  according  to  Mr.  Farwell,  more  about  infant 
diet  than  the  whole  staff  of  a maternity  hospital. 

At  length,  as  she  stared  into  the  darkness,  dissolution 
came  upon  it.  The  sills  of  her  windows  outlined  them- 
selves, and  a blurred  foliage  was  sketched  into  the  frame. 
With  a problem  but  half  solved  the  day  had  surprised  her. 
She  marvelled  to  see  that  it  grew  apace,  and  presently 
arose  to  look  out  upon  a stillness  like  that  of  eternity:  in 
the  grey  light  the  very  leaves  seemed  to  be  holding  their 
breath  in  expectancy  of  the  thing  that  was  to  come. 
Presently  the  drooping  roses  raised  their  heads,  from  pearl 
to  silver  grew  the  light,  and  comparison  ended.  The  reds 
were  aflame,  the  greens  resplendent,  the  lawn  sewn  with 
the  diamonds  of  the  dew. 

A little  travelling  table  was  beside  the  window,  and 
Honora  took  her  pen  and  wrote. 

“ My  dearest,  above  all  created  things  I love  you. 
Morning  has  come,  and  it  seems  to  me  that  I have  travelled 
far  since  last  I saw  you.  I have  come  to  a new  place, 
which  is  neither  hell  nor  heaven,  and  in  the  mystery  of  it 
you  — you  alone  are  real.  It  is  to  your  strength  that  I 
cling,  and  I know  that  you  will  not  fail  me. 

“ Since  I saw  you,  Hugh,  I have  been  through  the 
Valley  of  the  Shadow.  I have  thought  of  many  things. 
One  truth  alone  is  clear  — that  I love  you  transcendently. 
You  have  touched  and  awakened  me  into  life.  I walk 
in  a world  unknown. 

“ There  is  the  glory  of  martyrdom  in  this  message  I 
send  you  now.  You  must  not  come  to  me  again  until  I send 
for  you.  I cannot,  I will  not  trust  myself  or  you.  I will 
keep  this  love  which  has  come  to  me  undefiled.  It  has 
brought  with  it  to  me  a new  spirit,  a spirit  with  a scorn 


“ LIBERTY,  AND  PURSUIT  OF  HAPPINESS  ” 373 


for  things  base  and  mean.  Though  it  were  my  last  chance 
in  life,  I would  not  see  you  if  you  came.  If  I thought  you 
would  not  understand  what  I feel,  I could  not  love  you  as 
I do. 

44  I will  write  to  you  again,  when  I see  my  way  more 
clearly.  I told  you  in  the  garden  before  you  spoke  that 
I was  going  away.  Do  not  seek  to  know  my  plans.  For 
the  sake  of  the  years  to  come,  obey  me. 

“ Honoba.” 

She  reread  the  letter,  and  sealed  it.  A new  and  different 
exaltation  had  come  to  her  — begotten,  perhaps,  in  the  act 
of  writing.  A new  courage  filled  her,  and  now  she  con- 
templated the  ordeal  with  a tranquillity  that  surprised 
her.  The  disorder  and  chaos  of  the  night  were  passed, 
and  she  welcomed  the  coming  day,  and  those  that  were  to 
follow  it.  As  though  the  fates  were  inclined  to  humour 
her  impatience,  there  was  a telegram  on  her  breakfast 
tray,  dated  at  New  York,  and  informing  her  that  her 
husband  would  be  in  Newport  about  the  middle  of  the 
afternoon.  His  western  trip  was  finished  a day  earlier 
than  he  expected.  Honora  rang  her  bell. 

“Mathilde,  I am  going  away.” 

44  Oui,  madame.” 

44  And  I should  like  you  to  go  with  me.” 

“ Oui,  madame.” 

44  It  is  only  fair  that  you  should  understand,  Mathilde. 
I am  going  away  alone.  I am  not  — coming  back.” 

The  maid’s  eyes  filled  with  sudden  tears. 

44  Oh,  madame,”  she  cried,  in  a burst  of  loyalty,  44  if 
madame  will  permit  me  to  stay  with  her!” 

Honora  was  troubled,  but  her  strange  calmness  did  not 
forsake  her.  The  morning  was  spent  in  packing,  — 
which  was  a simple  matter.  She  took  only  such  things 
as  she  needed,  and  left  her  dinner-gowns  hanging  in  the 
closets.  A few  precious  books  of  her  own  she  chose,  but 
the  jewellery  her  husband  had  given  her  was  put  in  boxes 
and  laid  upon  the  dressing-table.  In  one  of  these  boxes 
was  her  wedding  ring.  When  luncheon  was  over,  an 


374 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


astonished  and  perturbed  butler  packed  the  Leffingwell 
silver  and  sent  it  off  to  storage. 

There  had  been  but  one  interruption  in  Honora’s 
labours.  A note  had  arrived  — from  him  — a note  and  a 
box.  He  would  obey  her!  She  had  known  he  would 
understand,  and  respect  her  the  more.  What  would  their 
love  have  been,  without  that  respect  ? She  shuddered  to 
think.  And  he  sent  her  this  ring,  as  a token  of  that  love, 
as  undying  as  the  fire  in  its  stones.  Would  she  wear  it, 
that  in  her  absence  she  might  think  of  him?  Honora 
kissed  it  and  slipped  it  on  her  finger,  where  it  sparkled. 
The  letter  was  beneath  her  gown,  though  she  knew  it  by 
heart.  Chiltern  had  gone  at  last:  he  could  not,  he  said, 
remain  in  Newport  and  not  see  her. 

At  midday  she  made  but  the  pretence  of  a meal.  It 
was  not  until  afterwards,  in  wandering  through  the  lower 
rooms  of  this  house,  become  so  dear  to  her,  that  agitation 
seized  her,  and  a desire  to  weep.  What  was  she  leaving 
so  precipitately  ? and  whither  going  ? The  world  indeed 
was  wide,  and  these  rooms  had  been  her  home.  The  day 
had  grown  blue-grey,  and  in  the  dining  room  the  gentle 
face  seemed  to  look  down  upon  her  compassionately 
from  the  portrait.  The  scent  of  the  roses  overpowered 
her.  As  she  listened,  no  sound  broke  the  quiet  of  the 
place. 

Would  Howard  never  come  ? The  train  was  in  — had 
been  in  ten  minutes.  Hark,  the  sound  of  wheels  ! Her 
heart  beating  wildly,  she  ran  to  the  windows  of  the  draw- 
ing-room and  peered  through  the  lilacs.  Yes,  there  he 
was,  ascending  the  steps. 

“ Mrs.  Spence  is  out,  I suppose,”  she  heard  him  say  to 
the  butler,  who  followed  with  his  bag. 

“No,  sir,  she’s  in  the  drawing-room.” 

The  sight  of  him,  with  his  air  of  satisfaction  and  impor- 
tance, proved  an  unexpected  tonic  to  her  strength.  It 
was  as  though  he  had  brought  into  the  room,  marshalled 
behind  him,  all  the  horrors  of  her  marriage,  and  she 
marvelled  and  shuddered  anew  at  the  thought  of  the  years 
of  that  sufferance. 


“ LIBERTY,  AND  PURSUIT  OF  HAPPINESS  ” 375 


“Well,  I’m  back,”  he  said,  “and  we’ve  made  a great 
killing,  as  I wrote  you.  They  were  easier  than  I ex- 
pected.” 

He  came  forward  for  the  usual  perfunctory  kiss,  but  she 
recoiled,  and  it  was  then  that  his  eye  seemed  to  grasp  the 
significance  of  her  travelling  suit  and  veil,  and  he  glanced 
at  her  face. 

“ What’s  up  ? Where  are  you  going  ? ” he  demanded. 
“ Has  anything  happened  ? ” 

“ Everything,”  she  said,  and  it  was  then,  suddenly,  that 
she  felt  the  store  of  her  resolution  begin  to  ebb,  and  she 
trembled.  “Howard,  I am  going  away.” 

He  stopped  short,  and  thrust  his  hands  into  the  pockets 
of  his  checked  trousers. 

“ Going  away,”  he  repeated.  “ Where  ? ” 

“I  don’t  know,”  said  Honora;  “I’m  going  away.” 

As  though  to  cap  the  climax  of  tragedy,  he  smiled  as  he 
produced  his  cigarette  case.  And  she  was  swept,  as  it 
were,  by  a scarlet  flame  that  deprived  her  for  the  moment 
of  speech. 

“Well,”  he  said  complacently,  “there’s  no  accounting 
for  women.  A case  of  nerves  — eh,  Honora  ? Been 
hitting  the  pace  a little  too  hard,  I guess.”  He  lighted  a 
match,  blissfully  unaware  of  the  quality  of  her  look. 
“ All  of  us  have  to  get  toned  up  once  in  a while.  I need 
it  myself.  I’ve  had  to  drink  a case  of  Scotch  whiskey  out 
West  to  get  this  deal  through.  Now  what’s  the  name  of 
that  new  boat  with  everything  on  her  from  a cafe  to  a 
Stock  Exchange  ? A German  name.” 

“ I don’t  know,”  said  Honora.  She  had  answered 
automatically. 

To  the  imminent  peril  of  one  of  the  frailest  of  Mrs. 
Forsythe’s  chairs,  he  sat  down  on  it,  placed  his  hands  on 
his  knees,  flung  back  his  head,  and  blew  the  smoke  towards 
the  ceiling.  Still  she  stared  at  him,  as  in  a state  of  semi- 
hypnosis. 

“ Instead  of  going  off  to  one  of  those  thousand-dollar-a- 
minute  doctors,  let  me  prescribe  for  you,”  he  said.  “ I’ve 
handled  some  nervous  men  in  my  time,  and  I guess  nervous 


376 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


women  aren’t  much  different.  You’ve  had  these  little 
attacks  before,  and  they  blow  over  — don’t  they  ? Wing 
owes  me  a vacation.  If  I do  say  it  myself,  there  are  not 
five  men  in  New  York  who  would  have  pulled  off  this  deal 
for  him.  Now  the  proposition  I was  going  to  make  to  you 
is  this:  that  we  get  cosey  in  a cabin  de  luxe  on  that  German 
boat,  hire  an  automobile  on  the  other  side,  and  do  up 
Europe.  It’s  a sort  of  a handicap  never  to  have  been  over 
there.” 


“ Oh,  you’re  making  it  very  hard  for  me,  Howard,”  she 
cried.  “ I might  have  known  that  you  couldn’t  under- 
stand, that  you  never  could  understand  — why  I am  going 
away.  I’ve  lived  with  you  all  this  time,  and  you  do  not 
know  me  any  better  than  you  know  — the  scrub- woman. 
I’m  going  away  from  you  — forever.” 

In  spite  of  herself,  she  ended  with  an  uncontrollable  sob. 
“Forever  !”  he  repeated,  but  he  continued  to  smoke 
and  to  look  at  her  without  any  evidences  of  emotion,  very 
much  as  though  he  had  received  an  ultimatum  in  a business 
transaction.  And  then  there  crept  into  his  expression 
something  of  a complacent  pity  that  braced  her  to  continue. 
“ Why  ? ” he  asked. 


‘ LIBERTY,  AND  PURSUIT  OF  HAPPINESS  ” 377 


“ Because  — because  I don’t  love  you.  Because  you 
don’t  love  me.  You  don’t  know  what  love  is  — you 
never  will.” 

“ But  we’re  married,”  he  said.  “We  get  along  all  right.  ” 

“ Oh,  can’t  you  see  that  that  makes  it  all  the  worse!  ” she 
cried.  “ I can  stand  it  no  longer.  I can’t  live  with  you 
— I won’t  live  with  you.  I’m  of  no  use  to  you  — you’re 
sufficient  unto  yourself.  It  was  all  a frightful  mistake. 
I brought  nothing  into  your  life,  and  I take  nothing  out 
of  it.  We  are  strangers  — we  have  always  been  so.  I 
am  not  even  your  housekeeper.  Your  whole  interest  in 
life  is  in  your  business,  and  you  come  home  to  read  the 
newspapers  and  to  sleep!  Home!  The  very  word  is  a 
mockery.  If  you  had  to  choose  between  me  and  your 
business  you  wouldn’t  hesitate  an  instant.  And  I — I 
have  been  starved.  It  isn’t  your  fault,  perhaps,  that  you 
don’t  understand  that  a woman  needs  something  more 
than  dinner-gowns  and  jewels  and  — and  trips  abroad. 
Her  only  possible  compensation  for  living  with  a man  is 
love.  Love — and  you  haven’t  the  faintest  conception  of 
it.  It  isn’t  your  fault,  perhaps.  It’s  my  fault  for  marry- 
ing you.  I didn’t  know  any  better.” 

She  paused  with  her  breast  heaving.  He  rose  and 
walked  over  to  the  fireplace  and  flicked  his  ashes  into  it 
before  he  spoke.  His  calmness  maddened  her. 

“ Why  didn’t  you  say  something  about  this  before  ? ” 
he  asked. 

“ Because  I didn’t  know  it  — I didn’t  realize  it  — until 
now.” 

“ When  you  married  me,”  he  went  on,  “ you  had  an 
idea  that  you  were  going  to  live  in  a house  on  Fifth  Avenue 
with  a ballroom,  didn’t  you  ? ” 

“ Yes,”  said  Honora.  “ I do  not  say  I am  not  to  blame. 
I was  a fool.  My  standards  were  false.  In  spite  of  the 
fact  that  my  aunt  and  uncle  are  the  most  unworldly 
people  that  ever  lived — perhaps  because  of  it  — I knew 
nothing  of  the  values  of  life.  I have  but  one  thing  to 
say  in  my  defence.  I thought  I loved  you,  and  that 
you  could  give  me  — what  every  woman  needs.” 


378 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


“You  were  never  satisfied  from  the  first,”  he  retorted. 
“ You  wanted  money  and  position  — a mania  with  Ameri- 
can women.  I’ve  made  a success  that  few  men  of  my 
age  can  duplicate.  And  even  now  you  are  not  satisfied 
when  I come  back  to  tell  you  that  I have  money  enough 
to  snap  my  fingers  at  half  these  people  you  know.” 

“ How,”  asked  Honora,  “ how  did  you  make  it  ? ” 

“ What  do  you  mean  ? ” he  asked. 

She  turned  away  from  him  with  a gesture  of  weariness. 
“No,  you  wouldn’t  understand  that,  either,  Howard.” 
It  was  not  until  then  that  he  showed  feeling. 

“ Somebody  has  been  talking  to  you  about  this  deal. 
I’m  not  surprised.  A lot  of  these  people  are  angry  be- 
cause we  didn’t  let  them  in.  What  have  they  been  say- 
ing ? ” he  demanded. 

Her  eyes  flashed. 

“ Nobody  has  spoken  to  me  on  the  subject,”  she  said. 
“ I only  know  what  I have  read,  and  what  you  have  told 
me.  In  the  first  place,  you  deceived  the  stockholders  of 
these  railways  into  believing  their  property  was  worthless, 
and  in  the  second  place,  you  intend  to  sell  it  to  the  public 
for  much  more  than  it  is  worth.” 

At  first  he  stared  at  her  in  surprise.  Then  he  laughed. 
“ By  George,  you’d  make  something  of  a financier  your- 
self, Honora,”  he  exclaimed.  And  seeing  that  she  did  not 
answer,  continued:  “ Well,  you’ve  got  it  about  right,  only 
it’s  easier  said  than  done.  It  takes  brains.  That’s  what 
business  is  — a survival  of  the  fittest.  If  you  don’t  do 
the  other  man,  he’ll  do  you.”  He  opened  the  cigarette 
case  once  more.  “ And  now,”  he  said,  “ let  me  give  you  a 
little,  piece  of  advice.  It’s  a good  motto  for  a woman  not 
to  meddle  with  what  doesn’t  concern  her.  It  isn’t  her 
business  to  make  the  money,  but  to  spend  it ; and  she 
can  usually  do  that  to  the  queen’s  taste.” 

“ A high  ideal!  ” she  exclaimed. 

“ You  ought  to  have  some  notion  of  where  that  ideal 
came  from,”  he  retorted.  “ You  were  all  for  getting  rich, 
in  order  to  compete  with  these  people.  Now  you’ve  got 
what  you  want  — ” 


“ LIBERTY,  AND  PURSUIT  OF  HAPPINESS  ” 379 


“ And  I am  going  to  throw  it  away.  That  is  like  a 
woman,  isn’t  it  ? ” 

He  glanced  at  her,  and  then  at  his  watch. 

“ See  here,  Honora,  I ought  to  go  over  to  Mr.  Wing’s. 
I wired  him  I’d  be  there  at  four-thirty.” 

44  Don’t  let  me  keep  you,”  she  replied. 

44  By  gad,  you  are  pale  ! ” he  said.  44  What’s  got  into 
the  women  these  days  ? They  never  used  to  have  these 
confounded  nerves.  Well,  if  you  are  bent  on  it,  I suppose 
there’s  no  use  trying  to  stop  you.  Go  off  somewhere  and 
take  a rest,  and  when  you  come  back  you’ll  see  things 
differently.” 

She  held  out  her  hand. 

44  Good-by,  Howard,”  she  said.  “ I wanted  you  to  know 
that  I didn’t  — bear  you  any  ill-will  — that  I blame  myself 
as  much  as  you.  More,  if  anything.  I hope  you  will  be 
happy  — I know  you  will.  But  I must  ask  you  to  believe 
me  when  I say  that  I shan’t  come  back.  I — I am  leaving 
all  the  valuable  things  you  gave  me.  You  will  find  them 
on  my  dressing-table.  And  I wanted  to  tell  you  that  my 
uncle  sent  me  a little  legacy  from  my  father — an  unex- 
pected one  — that  makes  me  independent.” 

He  did  not  take  her  hand,  but  was  staring  at  her  now, 
incredulously. 

44  You  mean  you  are  actually  going  ? ” he  exclaimed. 

44  Yes.” 

44  But  — what  shall  I say  to  Mr.  Wing?  What  will  he 
think  ? ” 

Despite  the  ache  in  her  heart,  she  smiled. 

44  Does  it  make  any  difference  what  Mr.  Wing  thinks  ? ” 
she  asked  gently.  44  Need  he  know?  Isn’t  this  a matter 
which  concerns  us  alone  ? I shall  go  off,  and  after  a certain 
time  people  will  understand  that  I am  not  coming  back.” 

44  But  — have  you  considered  that  it  may  interfere  with 
my  prospects  ? ” he  asked. 

44 Why  should  it?  You  are  invaluable  to  Mr.  Wing. 
He  can’t  afford  to  dispense  with  your  services  just  because 
you  will  be  divorced.  That  would  be  ridiculous.  Some 
of  his  own  associates  are  divorced.” 


380 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


“ Divorced ! ” he  cried,  and  she  saw  that  he  had  grown 
pasty  white.  44  On  what  grounds  ? Have  you  been  — ” 

He  did  not  finish. 

44  No,”  she  said,  44  you  need  fear  no  scandal.  There  will 
be  nothing  in  any  way  harmful  to  your  — prospects.” 

44  What  can  I do  ? ” he  said,  though  more  to  himself  than 
to  her.  Her  quick  ear  detected  in  his  voice  a note  of  re- 
lief. And  yet  he  struck  in  her,  standing  helplessly  smok- 
ing in  the  middle  of  the  floor,  chords  of  pity. 

44  You  can  do  nothing,  Howard,”  she  said.  44  If  you  lived 
with  me  from  now  to  the  millennium  you  couldn’t  make  me 
love  you,  nor  could  you  love  me  — the  way  I must  be  loved. 
Try  to  realize  it.  The  wrench  is  what  you  dread.  After 
it  is  over  you  will  be  much  more  contented,  much  happier, 
than  you  have  been  with  me.  Believe  me.” 

His  next  remark  astonished  her. 

44  What’s  the  use  of  being  so  damned  precipitate  ? ” he 
demanded. 

Precipitate  ! 

44  Because  I can  stand  it  no  longer.  I should  go  mad,” 
she  answered. 

He  took  a turn  up  and  down  the  room,  stopped  suddenly, 
and  stared  at  her  with  eyes  that  had  grown  smaller.  Sus- 
picion is  slow  to  seize  the  complacent.  W as  it  possible  that 
he  had  been  supplanted  ? 

Honora,  with  an  instinct  of  what  was  coming,  held  up 
her  head.  Had  he  been  angry,  had  he  been  a man,  how 
much  humiliation  he  would  have  spared  her ! 

44  So  you’re  in  love  ! ” he  said.  44 1 might  have  known 
that  something  was  at  the  bottom  of  this.” 

She  took  account  of  and  quivered  at  the  many  meanings 
behind  his  speech  — meanings  which  he  was  too  cowardly 
to  voice  in  words. 

44  Yes,”  she  answered, 44 1 am  in  love  — in  love  as  I never 
hoped  to  be  — as  I did  not  think  it  possible  to  be.  My  love 
is  such  that  I would  go  through  hell  fire  for  the  sake  of  it. 
I do  not  expect  you  to  believe  me  when  I tell  you  that 
such  is  not  the  reason  why  I am  leaving  you.  If  you  had 
loved  me  with  the  least  spark  of  passion,  if  I thought  I 


“ LIBERTY,  AND  PURSUIT  OF  HAPPINESS”  381 


were  in  the  least  bit  needful  to  you  as  a woman  and  as  a 
soul,  as  a helper  and  a confidante,  instead  of  a mere  pup- 
pet to  advertise  your  prosperity,  this  would  not  — could 
not  — have  happened.  I love  a man  who  would  give  up  the 
world  for  me  to-morrow.  I have  but  one  life  to  live,  and 
I am  going  to  find  happiness  if  I can.” 

She  paused,  afire  with  an  eloquence  that  had  come  un- 
sought. But  her  husband  only  stared  at  her.  She  was 
transformed  beyond  his  recognition.  Surely  he  had  not 
married  this  woman  ! And,  if  the  truth  be  told,  down  in 
his  secret  soul  whispered  a small,  congratulatory  voice. 
Although  he  did  not  yet  fully  realize  it,  he  was  glad  he 
had  not. 

Honora,  with  an  involuntary  movement,  pressed  her 
handkerchief  to  her  eyes. 

“Good-by,  Howard,”  she  said.  “I  — I did  not  expect 
you  to  understand.  If  I had  stayed,  I should  have  made 
you  miserably  unhappy.” 

He  took  her  hand  in  a dazed  manner,  as  though  he  knew 
not  in  the  least  what  he  was  doing.  He  muttered  some- 
thing and  found  speech  impossible.  He  gulped  once,  un- 
comfortably. The  English  language  had  ceased  to  be  a 
medium.  Great  is  the  force  of  habit ! In  the  emergency 
he  reached  for  his  cigarette  case. 

Honora  had  given  orders  that  the  carriage  was  to  wait 
at  the  door.  The  servants  might  suspect,  but  that  was 
all.  Her  maid  had  been  discreet.  She  drew  down  her 
veil  as  she  descended  the  steps,  and  told  the  coachman  to 
drive  to  the  station. 

It  was  raining.  Leaning  forward  from  under  the  hood 
as  the  horses  started,  she  took  her  last  look  at  the  lilacs. 


CHAPTER  VIII 


IN  WHICH  THE  LAW  BETRAYS  A HEART 

It  was  still  raining  when  she  got  into  a carriage  at 
Boston  and  drove  under  the  elevated  tracks,  through  the 
narrow,  slippery  business  streets,  to  the  hotel.  From  the 
windows  of  her  room,  as  the  night  fell,  she  looked  out 
across  the  dripping  foliage  of  the  Common.  Below  her, 
and  robbed  from  that  sacred  ground,  were  the  little 
granite  buildings  that  housed  the  entrances  to  the  subway, 
and  for  a long  time  she  stood  watching  the  people  crowd- 
ing into  these.  Most  of  them  had  homes  to  go  to  ! In 
the  gathering  gloom  the  arc-lights  shone,  casting  yellow 
streaks  on  the  glistening  pavement;  wagons  and  carriages 
plunged  into  the  maelstrom  at  the  corner  ; pedestrians 
dodged  and  slipped;  lightnings  flashed  from  overhead 
wires,  and  clanging  trolley  cars  pushed  their  greater  bulk 
through  the  mass.  And  presently  the  higher  toned  and 
more  ominous  bell  of  an  ambulance  sounded  on  its  way 
to  the  scene  of  an  accident. 

It  was  Mathilde  who  ordered  her  dinner  and  pressed 
her  to  eat.  But  she  had  no  heart  for  food.  In  her  bright 
sitting-room,  with  the  shades  tightly  drawn,  an  inex- 
pressible loneliness  assailed  her.  A large  engraving  of  a 
picture  of  a sentimental  school  hung  on  the  wall:  she  could 
not  bear  to  look  at  it,  and  yet  her  eyes,  from  time  to  time, 
were  fatally  drawn  thither.  It  was  of  a young  girl  tak- 
ing leave  of  her  lover,  in  early  Christian  times,  before 
entering  the  arena.  It  haunted  Honora,  and  wrought 
upon  her  imagination  to  such  a pitch  that  she  went  into 
her  bedroom  to  write. 

For  a long  time  nothing  more  was  written  of  the  letter 
than  “Dear  Uncle  Tom  and  Aunt  Mary”  : what  to  say 
to  them  ? 


382 


IN  WHICH  THE  LAW  BETRAYS  A HEART  383 


“ I do  not  know  what  yon  will  think  of  me.  I do  not 
know,  to-night,  what  to  think  of  myself.  I have  left 
Howard.  It  is  not  because  he  was  cruel  to  me,  or  untrue. 
He  does  not  love  me,  nor  I him.  I cannot  expect  you, 
who  have  known  the  happiness  of  marriage,  to  realize  the 
tortures  of  it  without  love.  My  pain  in  telling  you  this 
now  is  all  the  greater  because  I realize  your  belief  as  to 
the  sacredness  of  the  tie  — and  it  is  not  your  fault  that 
you  did  not  instil  that  belief  into  me.  I have  had  to  live 
and  to  think  and  to  suffer  for  myself.  I do  not  attempt 
to  account  for  my  action,  and  I hesitate  to  lay  the  blame 
upon  the  modern  conditions  and  atmosphere  in  which  I 
lived  ; for  I feel  that,  above  all  things,  I must  be  honest 
with  myself. 

“My  marriage  with  Howard  was  a frightful  mistake, 
and  I have  grown  slowly  to  realize  it,  until  life  with  him 
became  insupportable.  Since  he  does  not  love  me,  since 
his  one  interest  is  his  business,  my  departure  makes  no 
great  difference  to  him. 

“ Dear  Aunt  Mary  and  Uncle  Tom,  I realize  that  I 
owe  you  much  — everything  that  I am.  I do  not  expect 
you  to  understand  or  to  condone  what  I have  done.  I 
only  beg  that  you  will  continue  to  love  your  niece, 

“ Honoka.” 

She  tried  to  review  this  letter.  Incoherent  though  it 
were  and  incomplete,  in  her  present  state  of  mind  she  was 
able  to  add  but  a few  words  as  a postscript.  “ I will  write 
you  my  plans  in  a day  or  two,  when  I see  my  way  more 
clearly.  I would  fly  to  you  — but  I cannot.  I am  going 
to  get  a divorce.” 

She  sat  for  a time  picturing  the  scene  in  the  sitting- 
room  when  they  should  read  it,  and  a longing  which  was 
almost  irresistible  seized  her  to  go  back  to  that  shelter. 
One  force  alone  held  her  in  misery  where  she  was,  — her 
love  for  Chiltern;  it  drew  her  on  to  suffer  the  horrors  of 
exile  and  publicity.  When  she  suffered  most,  his  image 
rose  before  her,  and  she  kissed  the  ring  on  her  hand. 
Where  was  he  now,  on  this  rainy  night  ? On  the  seas  ? 


384 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


At  the  thought  she  heard  again  the  fog-horns  and  the 
sirens. 

Her  sleep  was  fitful.  Many  times  she  went  over  again 
her  talk  with  Howard,  and  she  surprised  herself  by  won- 
dering what  he  had  thought  and  felt  since  her  departure. 
And  ever  and  anon  she  was  startled  out  of  chimerical 
dreams  by  the  clamour  of  bells  — the  trolley  cars  on  their 
ceaseless  round  passing  below.  At  last  came  the  slumber 
of  exhaustion. 

It  was  nine  o’clock  when  she  awoke  and  faced  the  dis- 
tasteful task  she  had  set  herself  for  the  day.  In  her 
predicament  she  descended  to  the  office,  where  the  face 
of  one  of  the  clerks  attracted  her,  and  she  waited  until  he 
was  unoccupied. 

“ I should  like  you  to  tell  me  — the  name  of  some  repu- 
table lawyer,”  she  said. 

“ Certainly,  Mrs.  Spence,”  he  replied,  and  Honora  was 
startled  at  the  sound  of  her  name.  She  might  have  real- 
ized that  he  would  know  her.  u I suppose  a young  lawyer 
would  do  — if  the  matter  is  not  very  important.” 

“ Oh,  no  ! ” she  cried,  blushing  to  her  temples.  “ A 
young  lawyer  would  do  very  well.” 

The  clerk  reflected.  He  glanced  at  Honora  again,  and 
later  in  the  day  she  divined  what  had  been  going  on  in  his 
mind. 

“Well,”  he  said,  “there  are  a great  many.  I happen 
to  think  of  Mr.  Wentworth,  because  he  was  in  the  hotel 
this  morning.  He  is  in  the  Tremont  Building.” 

She  thanked  him  hurriedly,  and  was  driven  to  the 
Tremont  Building,  through  the  soggy  street  that  faced 
the  still  dripping  trees  of  the  Common.  Mounting  in  the 
elevator,  she  read  on  the  glass  door  amongst  the  names 
of  the  four  members  of  the  firm  that  of  Alden  W entworth, 
and  suddenly  found  herself  face  to  face  with  the  young 
man,  in  his  private  office.  He  was  well  groomed  and 
deeply  tanned,  and  he  rose  to  meet  her  with  a smile  that 
revealed  a line  of  perfect  white  teeth. 

“ How  do  you  do,  Mrs.  Spence  ? ” he  said.  “ I did  not 
think,  when  I met  you  at  Mrs.  Grenfell’s,  that  I should 
see  you  so  soon  in  Boston.  Won’t  you  sit  down  ? ” 


IN  WHICH  THE  LAW  BETRAYS  A HEART  385 


Honora  sat  down.  There  seemed  nothing  else  to  do. 
She  remembered  him  perfectly  now,  and  she  realized  that 
the  nimble-witted  clerk  had  meant  to  send  her  to  a gentle- 
man. 

44 1 thought,”  she  faltered,  44 1 thought  I was  coming  to 
a — a stranger.  They  gave  me  your  address  at  the  hotel 
■ — when  I asked  for  a lawyer.” 

44  Perhaps,”  suggested  Mr.  Wentworth,  delicately, 44  per- 
haps you  would  prefer  to  go  to  some  one  else.  I can  give 
you  any  number  of  addresses,  if  you  like.” 

She  looked  up  at  him  gratefully.  He  seemed  very  human 
and  understanding,  — very  honourable.  He  belonged  to 
her  generation,  after  all,  and  she  feared  an  older  man. 

44  If  you  will  be  kind  enough  to  listen  to  me,  I think  — 
I will  stay  here.  It  is  only  a matter  of  — - of  knowledge 
of  the  law.”  She  looked  at  him  again,  and  the  pathos  of 
her  smile  went  straight  to  his  heart.  For  Mr.  Wentworth 
possessed  that  organ,  although  he  did  not  wear  it  on  his 
sleeve. 

He  crossed  the  room,  closed  the  door,  and  sat  down  be- 
side her. 

44  Anything  I can  do,”  he  said. 

She  glanced  at  him  once  more,  helplessly. 

44 1 do  not  know  how  to  tell  you,”  she  began.  44  It  all 
seems  so  dreadful.”  She  paused,  but  he  had  the  lawyer’s 
gift  of  silence  — of  sympathetic  silence.  44 1 want  to  get 
a divorce  from  my  husband.” 

If  Mr.  Wentworth  was  surprised,  he  concealed  it  admir- 
ably. His  attitude  of  sympathy  did  not  change,  but  he 
managed  to  ask  her,  in  a business-like  tone  which  she 
welcomed  : — 

44  On  what  grounds  ? ” 

44 1 was  going  to  ask  you  that  question,”  said  Honora. 

This  time  Mr.  Wentworth  was  surprised — genuinely 
so,  and  he  showed  it. 

44  But,  my  dear  Mrs.  Spence,”  he  protested,  44  you  must 
remember  that  — that  I know  nothing  of  the  case.” 

44  What  are  the  grounds  one  can  get  divorced  on  ? ” she 
asked. 


2c 


386 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


He  coloured  a little  under  his  tan. 

44  They  are  different  in  different  states,”  he  replied. 
44 1 think  — perhaps  — the  best  way  would  be  to  read  you 
the  Massachusetts  statutes.” 

44  No  — wait  a moment,”  she  said.  44  It’s  very  simple, 
after  all,  what  I have  to  tell  you.  I don’t  love  my  hus- 
band, and  he  doesn’t  love  me,  and  it  has  become  torture 
to  live  together.  I have  left  him  with  his  knowledge  and 
consent,  and  he  understands  that  I will  get  a divorce.” 
Mr.  Wentworth  appeared  to  be  pondering  — perhaps 
not  wholly  on  the  legal  aspects  of  the  case  thus  naively 
presented.  Whatever  may  have  been  his  private  com- 
ments, they  were  hidden.  He  pronounced  tentatively, 
and  a little  absently,  the  word  44  desertion.” 

44  If  the  case  could  possibly  be  construed  as  desertion  on 
your  husband’s  part,  you  could  probably  get  a divorce  in 
three  years  in  Massachusetts.” 

44  Three  years  ! ” cried  Honora,  appalled.  44 1 could 
never  wait  three  years  ! ” 

She  did  not  remark  the  young  lawyer’s  smile,  which  re- 
vealed a greater  knowledge  of  the  world  than  one  would 
have  suspected.  He  said  nothing,  however. 

44  Three  years  ! ” she  repeated.  44  Why,  it  can’t  be,  Mr. 
Wentworth.  There  are  the  Waterfords  — she  was  Mrs. 
Boutwell,  you  remember.  And  — and  Mrs.  Rindge  — it 
was  scarcely  a year  before  — ” 

He  had  the  grace  to  nod  gravely,  and  to  pretend  not  to 
notice  the  confusion  in  which  she  halted.  Lawyers,  even 
young  ones  with  white  teeth  and  clear  eyes,  are  apt  to  be 
a little  cynical.  He  had  doubtless  seen  from  the  begin- 
ning that  there  was  a man  in  the  background.  It  was 
not  his  business  to  comment  or  to  preach. 

44  Some  of  the  western  states  grant  divorces  on  — on 
much  easier  terms,”  he  said  politely.  44  If  you  care  to 
wait,  I will  go  into  our  library  and  look  up  the  laws  of 
those  states.” 

44 1 wish  you  would,”  answered  Honora.  44 1 don’t 
think  I could  bear  to  spend  three  years  in  such  — in  such 
an  anomalous  condition.  And  at  any  rate  I should  much 


IN  WHICH  THE  LAW  BETRAYS  A HEART  387 


rather  go  W est,  out  of  sight,  and  have  it  all  as  quickly 
over  with  as  possible.” 

He  bowed,  and  departed  on  his  quest.  And  Honora 
waited,  at  moments  growing  hot  at  the  recollection  of  her 
conversation  with  him.  Why  — she  asked  herself  — 
should  the  law  make  it  so  difficult,  and  subject  her  to 
such  humiliation  in  a course  which  she  felt  to  be  right 
and  natural  and  noble?  Finally,  her  thoughts  becom- 
ing too  painful,  she  got  up  and  looked  out  of  the  win- 
dow. And  far  below  her,  through  the  mist,  she  beheld  the 
burying-ground  of  Boston’s  illustrious  dead  which  her 
cabman  had  pointed  out  to  her  as  he  passed.  She  did  not 
hear  the  door  open  as  Mr.  Wentworth  returned,  and  she 
started  at  the  sound  of  his  voice. 

“ I take  it  for  granted  that  you  are  really  serious  in  this 
matter,  Mrs.  Spence,”  he  said. 

“ Oh  ! ” she  exclaimed. 

“ And  that  you  have  thoroughly  reflected,”  he  continued 
imperturbably.  Evidently,  in  spite  of  the  cold  impar- 
tiality of  the  law,  a New  England  conscience  had  assailed 
him  in  the  library.  “ I cannot  take  — er  — the  responsi- 
bility of  advising  you  as  to  a course  of  action.  You  have 
asked  me  the  laws  of  certain  western  states  as  to  divorce  — 
I will  read  them.” 

An  office  boy  followed  him,  deposited  several  volumes 
on  the  taole,  and  Mr.  Wentworth  read  from  them  in  a 
voice  magnificently  judicial. 

“ There’s  not  much  choice,  is  there  ? ” she  faltered, 
when  he  had  finished. 

He  smiled. 

“ As  places  of  residence  — ” he  began,  in  an  attempt  to 
relieve  the  pathos. 

“ Oh,  I didn’t  mean  that,”  she  cried.  “ Exile  is  — is 
exile.”  She  flushed.  After  a few  moments  of  hesitation 
she  named  at  random  a state  the  laws  of  which  required  a 
six  months’  residence.  She  contemplated  him.  “ I hardly 
dare  to  ask  you  to  give  me  the  name  of  some  reputable 
lawyer  out  there.” 

He  had  looked  for  an  instant  into  her  eyes.  Men  of 


388 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


the  law  are  not  invulnerable,  particularly  at  Mr.  Went- 
worth’s age,  and  New  England  consciences  to  the  contrary 
notwithstanding.  In  spite  of  himself,  her  eyes  had  made 
him  a partisan : an  accomplice,  he  told  himself  after- 
wards. 

“Really,  Mrs.  Spence,”  he  began,  and  caught  another 
appealing  look.  He  remembered  the  husband  now,  and  a 
lecture  on  finance  in  the  Grenfell  smoking  room  which 
Howard  Spence  had  delivered,  and  which  had  grated  on 
Boston  sensibility.  “ It  is  only  right  to  tell  you  that  our 
firm  does  not  — does  not  — take  divorce  cases  — as  a rule. 
Not  that  we  are  taking  this  one,”  he  added  hurriedly. 
“ But  as  a friend  — ” 

“ Oh,  thank  you  ! ” said  Honora. 

“Merely  as  a friend  who  would  be  glad  to  do  you  a 
service,”  he  continued,  “ I will,  during  the  day,  try  to  get 
you  the  name  of  — of  as  reputable  a lawyer  as  possible  in 
that  place.” 

And  Mr.  Wentworth  paused,  as  red  as  though  he  had 
asked  her  to  marry  him. 

“ How  good  of  you  ! ” she  cried.  “ I shall  be  at  the 
Touraine  until  this  evening.” 

He  escorted  her  through  the  corridor,  bowed  her  into 
the  elevator,  and  her  spirits  had  risen  perceptibly  as  she 
got  into  her  cab  and  returned  to  the  hotel.  There,  she 
studied  railroad  folders.  One  confidant  was  enough,  and 
she  dared  not  even  ask  the  head  porter  the  way  to  a 
locality  where  — it  was  well  known  — divorces  were  £old 
across  a counter.  And  as  she  worked  over  the  intricacies 
of  this  problem  the  word  her  husband  had  applied  to  her 
action  recurred  to  her  — precipitate . No  doubt  Mr.  Went- 
worth, too,  had  thought  her  precipitate.  Nearly  every  im- 
portant act  of  her  life  had  been  precipitate.  But  she  was 
conscious  in  this  instance  of  no  regret.  Delay,  she  felt, 
would  have  killed  her.  Let  her  exile  begin  at  once. 

She  had  scarcely  finished  luncheon  when  Mr.  Went- 
worth was  announced.  For  reasons  best  known  to  him- 
self he  had  come  in  person;  and  he  handed  her,  written  on 
a card,  the  name  of  the  Honourable  David  Beckwith. 


IN  WHICH  THE  LAW  BETRAYS  A HEART  389 


“ I’ll  have  to  confess  I don’t  know  much  about  him, 
Mrs.  Spence,”  he  said,  “except  that  he  has  been  in 
Congress,  and  is  one  of  the  prominent  lawyers  of  that 
state.” 

The  gift  of  enlisting  sympathy  and  assistance  was 
peculiarly  Honora’s.  And  if  some  one  had  predicted  that 
morning  to  Mr.  Wentworth  that  before  nightfall  he  would 
not  only  have  put  a lady  in  distress  on  the  highroad  to 
obtaining  a western  divorce  (which  he  had  hitherto  looked 
upon  as  disgraceful),  but  that  likewise  he  would  miss 
his  train  for  Pride’s  Crossing,  buy  the  lady’s  tickets,  and 
see  her  off  at  the  South  Station  for  Chicago,  he  would 
have  regarded  the  prophet  as  a lunatic.  But  that  is  pre- 
cisely what  Mr.  Wentworth  did.  And  when,  as  her  train 
pulled  out,  Honora  bade  him  good-by,  she  felt  the  tug  at 
her  heartstrings  which  comes  at  parting  with  an  old 
friend. 

“ And  anything  I can  do  for  you  here  in  the  East,  while 
— while  you  are  out  there,  be  sure  to  let  me  know,”  he 
said. 

She  promised  and  waved  at  him  from  the  platform  as 
he  stood  motionless,  staring  after  her.  Romance  had 
spent  a whole  day  in  Boston ! And  with  Mr.  Alden 
Wentworth,  of  all  people  ! 

F ortunately  for  the  sanity  of  the  human  race,  the  ten- 
sion of  grief  is  variable.  Honora,  closed  in  her  state- 
room, eased  herself  that  night  by  writing  a long,  if 
somewhat  undecipherable,  letter  to  Chiltern  ; and  was  able, 
the  next  day,  to  read  the  greater  portion  of  a novel.  It 
was  only  when  she  arrived  in  Chicago,  after  nightfall,  that 
loneliness  again  assailed  her.  She  was  within  nine  hours 
■ — so  the  time-table  said  — of  St.  Louis  ! Of  all  her  trials, 
the  homesickness  which  she  experienced  as  she  drove 
through  the  deserted  streets  of  the  metropolis  of  the 
Middle  West  was  perhaps  the  worst.  A great  city  on 
Sunday  night ! What  traveller  has  not  felt  the  depress- 
ing effect  of  it  ? And,  so  far  as  the  incoming  traveller  is 
concerned,  Chicago  does  not  put  her  best  foot  forward. 
The  way  from  the  station  to  the  Auditorium  Hotel  was 


390 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


hacked  and  bruised  — so  it  seemed  — by  the  cruel  battle 
of  trade.  And  she  stared,  in  a kind  of  fascination  that 
increased  the  ache  in  her  heart,  at  the  ugliness  and  cruelty 
of  the  twentieth  century. 

To  have  imagination  is  unquestionably  to  possess  a great 
capacity  for  suffering,  and  Honora  was  paying  the  penalty 
for  hers.  It  ran  riot  now.  The  huge  buildings  towered 
like  formless  monsters  against  the  blackness  of  the  sky  : 
under  the  sickly  blue  of  the  electric  lights,  across  the 
dirty,  foot-scarred  pavements,  strange  black  human  figures 
seemed  to  wTander  aimlessly : an  elevated  train  thundered 
overhead.  And  presently  she  found  herself  the  tenant  of 
two  rooms  in  that  vast  refuge  of  the  homeless,  the  modern 
hotel,  where  she  sat  until  the  small  hours  looking  down 
upon  the  myriad  lights  of  the  shore  front,  and  out  beyond 
them  on  the  black  waters  of  an  inland  sea. 

From  Newport  to  Salomon  City,  in  a state  not  far  from 
the  Pacific  tier,  is  something  of  a transition  in  less  than 
a week,  though  in  modern  life  we  should  be  surprised 
at  nothing.  Limited  trains  are  wonderful  enough;  but 
what  shall  be  said  of  the  modern  mind,  that  travels  faster 
than  light?  and  much  too  fast  for  the  pages  of  a chronicle. 
Martha  Washington  and  the  good  ladies  of  her  acquaint- 
ance knew  nothing  about  the  upper  waters  of  the  Missouri, 
and  the  words  “ for  better,  for  worse,  for  richer,  for 
poorer  ” were  not  merely  literature  to  them. 

Nous  avons  change  tout  cela,  although  there  are  yet 
certain  crudities  to  be  eliminated.  In  these  enlightened 
times,  if  in  one  week  a lady  is  not  entirely  at  home  with 
husband  number  one,  in  the  next  week  she  may  have 
travelled  in  comparative  comfort  some  two-thirds  across 
a continent,  and  be  on  the  highroad  to  husband  number 
two.  Why  travel  ? Why  have  to  put  up  with  all  this 
useless  expense  and  worry  and  waste  of  time  ? Why  not 
have  one’s  divorce  sent,  C.O.D.,  to  one’s  door,  or  estab- 
lish a new  branch  of  the  Post-office  Department  ? Ameri- 
can enterprise  has  surely  lagged  in  this. 

Seated  in  a plush-covered  rocking-chair  that  rocked  on 


IN  WHICH  THE  LAW  BETRAYS  A HEART  391 


a track  of  its  own,  and  thus  saved  the  yellow-and-red 
hotel  carpet,  the  Honourable  Dave  Beckwith  patiently  ex- 
plained the  vexatious  process  demanded  by  his  particular 
sovereign  state  before  she  should  consent  to  cut  the  Gor- 
dian knot  of  marriage.  And  his  state  — the  Honourable 
Dave  remarked  — was  in  the  very  forefront  of  enlighten- 
ment in  this  respect:  practically  all  that  she  demanded 
was  that  ladies  in  Mrs.  Spence’s  predicament  should  be- 
come, pro  tempore , her  citizens.  Married  misery  did  not 
exist  in  the  Honourable  Dave’s  state,  amongst  her  own 
bona  fide  citizens.  And,  by  a wise  provision  in  the 
Constitution  of  our  glorious  American  Union,  no  one 
state  could  tie  the  nuptial  knot  so  tight  that  another  state 
could  not  cut  it  at  a blow. 

Six  months’  residence,  and  a whole  year  before  the  di- 
vorce could  be  granted  ! Honora  looked  at  the  plush 
rocking-chair,  the  yellow-and-red  carpet,  the  inevitable 
ice-water  on  the  marble-topped  table,  and  the  picture  of  a 
lady  the  shape  of  a liqueur  bottle  playing  tennis  in  the 
late  eighties,  and  sighed.  For  one  who  is  sensitive  to  sur- 
roundings, that  room  was  a torture  chamber. 

“ But  Mr.  Beckwith,”  she  exclaimed,  “ I never  could 
spend  a year  here  ! Isn’t  there  a house  I could  get  that 
is  a — a little  — a little  better  furnished  ? And  then  there 
is  a certain  publicity  about  staying  at  a hotel.” 

The  Honourable  Dave  might  have  been  justly  called  the 
friend  of  ladies  in  a temporary  condition  of  loneliness. 
His  mission  in  life  was  not  merely  that  of  a liberator,  but 
his  natural  goodness  led  him  to  perform  a hundred  acts  of 
kindness  to  make  as  comfortable  as  possible  the  purgatory 
of  the  unfortunates  under  his  charge.  He  was  a man  of 
a remarkable  appearance,  and  not  to  be  lightly  forgotten. 
His  hair,  above  all,  fascinated  Honora,  and  she  found  her 
eyes  continually  returning  to  it.  So  incredibly  short  it 
was,  and  so  incredibly  stiff,  that  it  reminded  her  of  the 
needle  points  on  the  cylinder  of  an  old-fashioned  music- 
box;  and  she  wondered,  if  it  were  properly  inserted, 
what  would  be  the  resultant  melody. 

The  Honourable  Dave’s  head  was  like  a cannon-ball 


392 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


painted  white.  Across  the  top  of  it  (a  blemish  that  would 
undoubtedly  have  spoiled  the  tune)  was  a long  scar,  — a 
relic  of  one  of  the  gentleman’s  many  personal  difficulties. 
He  who  made  the  scar,  Honora  reflected,  must  have  been 
a strong  man.  The  Honourable  Dave,  indeed,  had  fought 
his  way  upward  through  life  to  the  Congress  of  the  United 
States  ; and  many  were  the  harrowing  tales  of  frontier 
life  he  told  Honora  in  the  long  winter  evenings  when  the 
blizzards  came  down  the  river  valley.  They  would  fill  a 
book  ; unfortunately,  not  this  book.  The  growing  respon- 
sibilities of  taking  care  of  the  lonely  ladies  that  came  in 
increasing  numbers  to  Salomon  City  from  the  effeter  por- 
tions of  the  continent  had  at  length  compelled  him  to  give 
up  his  congressional  career.  The  Honourable  Dave  was 
unmarried;  and,  he  told  Honora,  not  likely  to  become  so. 
He  was  thus  at  once  human  and  invulnerable,  a high 
priest  dedicated  to  freedom. 

It  is  needless  to  say  that  the  plush  rocking-chair  and 
the  picture  of  the  liqueur-bottle  lady  did  not  jar  on  his 
sensibilities.  Like  an  eminent  physician  who  has  never 
himself  experienced  neurosis,  the  Honourable  Dave  firmly 
believed  that  he  understood  the  trouble  from  which  his 
client  was  suffering.  He  had  seen  many  cases  of  it  in 
ladies  from  the  Atlantic  coast : the  first  had  surprised  him, 
no  doubt.  Salomon  City,  though  it  contained  the  great 
Boon,  was  not  aesthetic.  Being  a keen  student  of  human 
nature,  he  rightly  supposed  that  she  would  not  care  to 
join  the  colony,  but  he  thought  it  his  duty  to  mention 
that  there  was  a colony. 

Honora  repeated  the  word. 

“ Out  there,”  he  said,  waving  his  cigar  to  the  westward, 
“some  of  the  ladies  have  ranches.”  Some  of  the  gentle- 
men, too,  he  added,  for  it  appeared  that  exiles  were  not 
confined  to  one  sex.  “ It’s  social  — a little  too  social,  I 
guess,”  declared  Mr.  Beckwith,  “for  you.”  A delicate 
compliment  of  differentiation  that  Honora  accepted  gravely. 
“ They’ve  got  a casino,  and  they  burn  a good  deal  of 
electricity  first  and  last.  They  don’t  bother  Salomon 
City  much.  Once  in  a while,  in  the  winter,  they  come  in 


IN  WHICH  THE  LAW  BETRAYS  A HEART  393 


a bunch  to  the  theatre.  Soon  as  I looked  at  you  I knew 
you  wouldn’t  want  to  go  there.” 

Her  exclamation  was  sufficiently  eloquent. 

“I’ve  got  just  the  thing  for  you,”  he  said.  “ It  looks  a 
little  as  if  I was  reaching  out  into  the  sanitarium  business. 
Are  you  acquainted  by  any  chance  with  Mrs.  Boutwell, 
who  married  a fellow  named  Waterford  ? ” he  asked,  taking 
momentarily  out  of  his  mouth  the  cigar  he  was  smoking 
by  permission. 

Honora  confessed,  with  no  great  enthusiasm,  that  she 
knew  the  present  Mrs.  Waterford.  Not  the  least  of  her 
tribulations  had  been  to  listen  to  a partial  recapitulation,  by 
the  Honourable  Dave,  of  the  ladies  he  had  assisted  to  a trans- 
fer of  husbands.  What,  indeed,  had  these  ladies  to  do 
with  her  ? She  felt  that  the  very  mention  of  them  tended 
to  soil  the  pure  garments  of  her  martyrdom. 

“ What  I was  going  to  say  was  this,”  the  Honourable 
Dave  continued.  “Mrs.  Boutwell  — that  is  to  say  Mrs. 
Waterford  — couldn’t  stand  this  hotel  any  more  than  you, 
and  she  felt  like  you  do  about  the  colony,  so  she  rented  a 
little  house  up  on  Wylie  Street  and  furnished  it  from  the 
East.  I took  the  furniture  off  her  hands:  it’s  still  in  the 
house,  by  the  way,  which  hasn’t  been  rented.  For  I 
figured  it  out  that  another  lady  would  be  coming  along 
with  the  same  notions.  Now  you  can  look  at  the  house 
any  time  you  like.” 

Although  she  had  to  overcome  the  distaste  of  its  ante- 
cedents, the  house,  or  rather  the  furniture,  was  too  much 
of  a find  in  Salomon  City  to  be  resisted.  It  had  but  six 
rooms,  and  was  of  wood,  and  painted  grey,  like  its  twin 
beside  it.  But  Mrs.  Waterford  had  removed  the  stained- 
glass  window-lights  in  the  front  door,  deftly  hidden  the 
highly  ornamental  steam  radiators,  and  made  other  elimi- 
nations and  improvements,  including  the  white  book- 
shelves that  still  contained  the  lady’s  winter  reading  — 
fifty  or  more  yellow-and-green-backed  French  novels  and 
plays.  Honora’s  first  care,  after  taking  possession,  was  to 
order  her  maid  to  remove  these  from  her  sight  : but  it  is 
to  be  feared  that  they  found  their  way,  directly,  to 


394 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


Mathilde’s  room.  Honora  would  have  liked  to  fumigate 
the  house;  and  yet,  at  the  same  time,  she  thanked  her 
stars  for  it.  Mr.  Beckwith  obligingly  found  her  a cook, 
and  on  Thursday  evening  she  sat  down  to  supper  in  her 
tiny  dining  room.  She  had  found  a temporary  haven,  at 
last. 

Suddenly  she  remembered  that  it  was  an  anniversary. 
One  week  ago  that  day,  in  the  old  garden  at  Beaulieu, 
had  occurred  the  momentous  event  that  had  changed  the 
current  of  her  life ! 


CHAPTER  IX 


WYLIE  STREET 

There  was  a little  spindle-supported  porch  before  Ho- 
nora’s  front  door,  and  had  she  chosen  she  might  have  fol- 
lowed the  example  of  her  neighbours  and  sat  there  in  the 
evenings.  She  preferred  to  watch  the  life  about  her  from 
the  window-seat  in  the  little  parlour.  The  wrord  exile 
suggests,  perhaps,  to  those  who  have  never  tried  it,  empty 
wastes,  isolation,  loneliness.  She  had  been  prepared  for 
these  things,  and  Wylie  Street  wTas  a shock  to  her:  in 
sending  her  there  at  this  crisis  in  her  life  fate  had  perpe- 
trated nothing  less  than  a huge  practical  joke.  Next 
door,  for  instance,  in  the  twin  house  to  hers,  flaunted  in 
the  face  of  liberal  divorce  laws,  was  a young  couple  with 
five  children.  Honora  counted  them,  from  the  eldest  ones 
that  ran  over  her  little  grass  plot  on  their  way  to  and 
from  the  public  school,  to  the  youngest  that  spent  much 
of  his  time  gazing  skyward  from  a perambulator  on  the 
sidewalk.  Six  days  of  the  week,  about  six  o’clock  in  the 
evening,  there  was  a celebration  in  the  family.  Father 
came  home  from  work  ! He  was  a smooth-faced  young 
man  whom  a fortnight  in  the  woods  might  have  helped 
wonderfully  — a clerk  in  the  big  department  store. 

He  radiated  happiness.  When  opposite  Honora’s  front 
door  he  would  open  his  arms  — the  signal  for  a race  across 
her  lawn.  Sometimes  it  was  the  little  girl,  with  pigtails 
the  colour  of  pulled  molasses  candy,  who  won  the  prize  of 
the  first  kiss:  again  it  was  her  brother,  a year  her  junior; 
and  when  he  was  raised  it  was  seen  that  the  seat  of  his 
trousers  was  obviously  double.  But  each  of  the  five  re- 
ceived a reward,  and  the  baby  was  invariably  lifted  out 
of  the  perambulator.  And  finally  there  was  a conjugal 
kiss  on  the  spindled  porch. 

395 


396 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


The  wife  was  a roly-poly  little  body.  In  the  mornings, 
at  the  side  windows,  Honora  heard  her  singing  as  she 
worked,  and  sometimes  the  sun  struck  with  a blinding 

flash  the  pan  she 
was  in  the  act  of 
shining.  And  one 
day  she  looked  up 
and  nodded  and 
smiled.  Strange 
indeed  was  the  ef- 
fect upon  our  hero- 
ine of  that  greet- 
ing! It  amazed 
Honora  herself. 
A strange  current 
ran  throu 
and  left  her  hot, 
and  even  as  she 
smiled  and  nodded 
back,  unbidden 
tears  rose  scald- 
ing to  her  eyes. 
What  was  it? 
Why  was  it  ? 

She  went  down- 
stairs to  the  little 
bookcase,  filled 
now  with  volumes 
that  were  not 
trash.  For  Hugh’s  sake,  she  would  try  to  improve  herself 
this  winter  by  reading  serious  things.  But  between  her 
eyes  and  the  book  was  the  little  woman’s  smile.  A month 
before,  at  Newport,  how  little  she  would  have  valued  it  ! 

One  morning,  as  Honora  was  starting  out  for  her  lonely 
walk  — that  usually  led  her  to  the  bare  clay  banks  of  the 
great  river  — she  ran  across  her  neighbour  on  the  side- 
walk. The  little  woman  was  settling  the  baby  for  his 
airing,  and  she  gave  Honora  the  same  dazzling  smile. 

“ Good  morning,  Mrs.  Spence,”  she  said. 


gh  her 


WYLIE  STREET 


397 


“ Good  morning,”  replied  Honora,  and  in  her  strange 
confusion  she  leaned  oyer  the  carriage.  “ Oh,  what  a 
beautiful  baby!  ” 

“ Isn’t  he!  ” cried  the  little  woman.  “ Of  all  of  ’em,  I 
think  he’s  the  prize.  His  father  says  so.  I guess,”  she 
added,  “ I guess  it  was  because  I didn’t  know  so  much 
about  ’em  when  they  first  began  to  come.  You  take  my 
word  for  it,  the  best  way  is  to  leave  ’em  alone.  Don’t 
dandle  ’em.  It’s  hard  to  keep  your  hands  off  ’em,  but  it’s 
right.” 

“ I’m  sure  of  it,”  said  Honora,  who  was  very  red. 

They  made  a strange  contrast  as  they  stood  on  that  new 
street,  with  its  new  vitrified  brick  paving  and  white  stone 
curbs,  and  new  little  trees  set  out  in  front  of  new  little 
houses:  Mrs.  Mayo  (for  such,  Honora’s  cook  had  informed 
her,  was  her  name)  in  a housekeeper’s  apron  and  a shirt- 
waist, and  Honora,  almost  a head  taller,  in  a walking  cos- 
tume of  dark  grey  that  would  have  done  justice  to  Fifth 
Avenue.  The  admiration  in  the  little  woman’s  eyes  was 
undisguised. 

“ You’re  getting  a bill,  I hear,”  she  said,  after  a moment. 

“ A bill  ? ” repeated  Honora. 

“ A bill  of  divorce,”  explained  Mrs.  Mayo. 

Honora  was  conscious  of  conflicting  emotions:  astonish- 
ment, resentment,  and  — most  curiously  — of  relief  that 
the  little  woman  knew  it. 

“Yes,”  she  answered. 

But  Mrs.  Mayo  did  not  appear  to  notice  or  resent  her 
brevity. 

“ I took  a fancy  to  you  the  minute  I saw  you,”  she 
said.  “ I can’t  say  as  much  for  the  other  Easterner  that 
was  here  last  year.  But  I made  up  my  mind  that  it 
must  be  a mighty  mean  man  who  would  treat  you  badly.” 

Honora  stood  as  though  rooted  to  the  pavement.  She 
found  a reply  impossible. 

“ When  I think  of  my  luck,”  her  neighbour  continued, 
“I’m  almost  ashamed.  We  were  married  on  fifteen  dol- 
lars a week.  Of  course  there  have  been  trials,  we  must 
always  expect  that;  and  we’ve  had  to  work  hard,  but  it 


398 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


hasn’t  hurt  us.”  She  paused  and  looked  up  at  Honora, 
and  added  contritely:  “There!  I shouldn’t  have  said  any- 
thing. It’s  mean  of  me  to  talk  of  my  happiness.  I’ll 
drop  in  some  afternoon  — if  you’ll  let  me  — when  I get 
through  my  work,”  said  the  little  woman. 

“ I wish  you  would,”  replied  Honora. 

She  had  much  to  think  of  on  her  walk  that  morning, 
and  new  resolutions  to  make.  Here  was  happiness  grow- 
ing and  thriving,  so  far  as  she  could  see,  without  any  of 
that  rarer  nourishment  she  had  once  thought  so  necessary. 
And  she  had  come  two  thousand  miles  to  behold  it! 

She  walked  many  miles,  as  a part  of  the  regimen  and 
discipline  to  which  she  had  set  herself.  Her  haunting 
horror  in  this  place,  as  she  thought  of  the  colony  of  which 
Mr.  Beckwith  had  spoken  and  of  Mrs.  Boutwell’s  row  of 
French  novels,  was  degeneration.  She  was  resolved  to 
return  to  Chiltern  a better  and  a wiser  and  a truer 
woman,  unstained  by  the  ordeal.  At  the  outskirts  of 
the  town  she  halted  by  the  river’s  bank,  breathing  deeply 
of  the  pure  air  of  the  vast  plains  that  surrounded  her. 

She  was  seated  that  afternoon  at  her  desk  in  the  sitting- 
room  upstairs  when  she  heard  the  tinkle  of  the  door-bell, 
and  remembered  her  neighbour’s  promise  to  call.  With 
something  of  a pang  she  pushed  back  her  chair.  Since 
the  episode  of  the  morning,  the  friendship  of  the  little 
woman  had  grown  to  have  a definite  value ; for  it  was 
no  small  thing,  in  Honora’s  situation,  to  feel  the  presence 
of  a warm  heart  next  door.  All  day  she  had  been  thinking 
of  Mrs.  Mayo  and  her  strange  happiness,  and  longing  to 
talk  with  her  again,  and  dreading  it.  And  while  she  was 
bracing  herself  for  the  trial  Mathilde  entered  with  a card. 

“ Tell  Mrs.  Mayo  I shall  be  down  in  a minute,”  she  said. 

It  was  not  a lady,  Mathilde  replied,  but  a monsieur. 

Honora  took  the  card.  For  a long  time  she  sat  staring 
at  it,  while  Mathilde  waited.  It  read  : — 

Mr.  Peter  Erwin. 

“Madame  will  see  monsieur?  ” 

A great  sculptor  once  said  to  the  statesman  who  was 


WYLIE  STREET 


399 


to  be  his  model : “ W ear  your  old  coat.  There  is  as  much 
of  a man  in  the  back  of  his  old  coat,  I think,  as  there  is  in 
his  face.”  As  Honora  halted  on  the  threshold,  Peter  was 
standing  looking  out  of  the  five-foot  plate-glass  window, 
and  his  back  was  to  her. 

She  was  suddenly  stricken.  Not  since  she  had  been  a 
child,  not  even  in  the  weeks  just  passed,  had  she  felt  that 
pain.  And  as  a child,  self-pity  seized  her  — as  a lost 
child,  when  darkness  is  setting  in,  and  the  will  fails  and 
distance  appalls.  Scalding  tears  welled  into  her  eyes  as 
she  seized  the  frame  of  the  door,  but  it  must  have  been  her 
breathing  that  he  heard.  He  turned  and  crossed  the  room 
to  her  as  she  had  known  he  would,  and  she  clung  to  him 
as  she  had  so  often  done  in  days  gone  by  when,  hurt  and 
bruised,  he  had  rescued  and  soothed  her.  For  the  mo- 
ment, the  delusion  that  his  power  was  still  limitless  pre- 
vailed, and  her  faith  whole  again,  so  many  times  had  he 
mended  a world  all  awry. 

He  led  her  to  the  window-seat  and  gently  disengaged 
her  hands  from  his  shoulders  and  took  one  of  them  and 
held  it  between  his  own.  He  did  not  speak,  for  his  was 
a rare  intuition  ; and  gradually  her  hand  ceased  to  tremble, 
and  the  uncontrollable  sobs  that  shook  her  became  less 
frequent. 

“Why  did  you  come?  Why  did  you  come?”  she 
cried. 

“ To  see  you,  Honora.” 

“ But  you  might  have  - — warned  me.” 

“ Yes,”  he  said,  “it’s  true,  I might.” 

She  drew  her  hand  away,  and  gazed  steadfastly  at  his 
face. 

“Why  aren’t  you  angry?”  she  said.  “You  don’t 
believe  in  what  I have  done  — you  don’t  sympathize  with 
it  — you  don’t  understand  it.” 

“ I have  come  here  to  try,”  he  said. 

She  shook  her  head. 

“ You  can’t  — you  can’t  — you  never  could.” 

“ Perhaps,”  he  answered,  “ it  may  not  be  so  difficult  as 
you  think.” 


400 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


Grown  calmer,  she  considered  this.  What  did  he  mean 
by  it?  to  imply  a knowledge  of  herself? 

44  It  will  be  useless,”  she  said  inconsequently. 

44  No,”  he  said, 44  it  will  not  be  useless.” 

She  considered  this  also,  and  took  the  broader  meaning 
that  such  acts  are  not  wasted. 

44  What  do  you  intend  to  try  to  do?  ” she  asked. 

He  smiled  a little. 

44  To  listen  to  as  much  as  you  care  to  tell  me,  Honora.” 

She  looked  at  him  again,  and  an  errant  thought  slipped 
in  between  her  larger  anxieties.  Wherever  he  went,  how 
extraordinarily  he  seemed  to  harmonize  with  his  surround- 
ings ! At  Silverdale,  and  in  the  drawing-room  of  the  New 
York  house,  and  in  the  little  parlour  in  this  far  western 
town.  What  was  it  ? His  permanence  ? Was  it  his  power  ? 
She  felt  that,  but  it  was  a strange  kind  of  power  — not  like 
other  men’s.  She  felt,  as  she  sat  there  beside  him,  that 
his  was  a power  more  difficult  to  combat.  That  to  defeat 
it  was  at  once  to  make  it  stronger,  and  to  grow  weaker. 
She  summoned  her  pride,  she  summoned  her  wrongs  : she 
summoned  the  ego  which  had  winged  its  triumphant  flight 
far  above  his  kindly,  disapproving  eye.  He  had  the  ability 
to  make  her  taste  defeat  in  the  very  hour  of  victory.  And 
she  knew  that,  when  she  fell,  he  would  be  there  in  his 
strength  to  lift  her  up. 

44  Did  — did  they  tell  you  to  come  ? ” she  asked. 

44  There  was  no  question  of  that,  Honora.  I was  away 
when  — when  they  learned  you  were  here.  As  soon  as  I 
returned,  I came.” 

44  Tell  me  how  they  feel,”  she  said,  in  a low  voice. 

44  They  think  only  of  you.  And  the  thought  that  you 
are  unhappy  overshadows  all  others.  They  believe  that 
it  is  to  them  you  should  have  come,  if  you  were  in  trouble, 
instead  of  coming  here.” 

44  How  could  I ? ” she  cried.  44  How  can  you  ask  ? That 
is  what  makes  it  so  hard,  that  I cannot  be  with  them  now. 
But  I should  only  have  made  them  still  more  unhappy,  if 
I had  gone.  They  would  not  have  understood  — they  can- 
not understand,  who  have  every  reason  to  believe  in  mar- 


WYLIE  STREET 


401 


riage,  why  those  to  whom  it  has  been  a mockery  and  a 
torture  should  be  driven  to  divorce.” 

“ Why  divorce  ? ” he  said. 

“Do  you  mean  — do  you  mean  that  you  wish  me  to 
give  you  the  reasons  why  I felt  justified  in  leaving  my 
husband  ? ” 

“ Not  unless  you  care  to,”  he  replied.  “ I have  no  right 
to  demand  them.  I only  ask  you  to  remember,  Honora, 
that  you  have  not  explained  these  reasons  very  clearly  in 
your  letters  to  your  aunt  and  uncle.  They  do  not  under- 
stand them.  Your  uncle  was  unable,  on  many  accounts, 
to  come  here  ; and  he  thought  that  — that  as  an  old 
friend,  you  might  be  willing  to  talk  to  me.” 

“ I can’t  live  with  — with  my  husband,”  she  cried.  “I 
don’t  love  him,  and  he  doesn’t  love  me.  He  doesn’t  know 
what  love  is.” 

Peter  Erwin  glanced  at  her,  but  she  was  too  absorbed 
then  to  see  the  thing  in  his  eyes.  He  made  no  com- 
ment. 

“ We  haven’t  the  same  tastes,  nor — nor  the  same  way 
of  looking  at  things  — the  same  views  about  making  money 
— for  instance.  We  became  absolute  strangers.  What 
more  is  there  to  say  ? ” she  added,  a little  defiantly. 

“ Your  husband  committed  no  — - flagrant  offence  against 
you?”  he  inquired. 

“ That  would  have  made  him  human,  at  least,”  she 
cried.  “ It  would  have  proved  that  he  could  feel  — some- 
thing. No,  all  he  cares  for  in  the  world  is  to  make  money, 
and  he  doesn’t  care  how  he  makes  it.  No  woman  with  an 
atom  of  soul  can  live  with  a man  like  that.” 

If  Peter  Erwin  deemed  this  statement  a trifle  revolu- 
tionary, he  did  not  say  so. 

“ So  you  just  — left  him,”  he  said. 

“ Yes,”  said  Honora.  “ He  didn’t  care.  He  was  rather 
relieved  than  otherwise.  If  I had  lived  with  him  till 
I died,  I couldn’t  have  made  him  happy.” 

“You  tried,  and  failed,”  said  Peter. 

She  flushed. 

“ I couldn’t  have  made  him  happier,”  she  declared, 


402 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


correcting  herself.  “ He  has  no  conception  of  what  real 
happiness  is.  He  thinks  he  is  happy,  — he  doesn’t  need 
me.  He’ll  be  much  more  — contented  without  me.  I 
have  nothing  against  him.  I was  to  blame  for  marrying 
him,  I know.  But  I have  only  one  life  to  live,  and  I can’t 
throw  it  away,  Peter,  I can’t.  And  I can’t  believe  that  a 
woman  and  a man  were  intended  to  live  together  without 
love.  It  is  too  horrible.  Surely  that  isn’t  your  idea  of 
marriage ! ” 

“My  idea  of  marriage  isn’t  worth  very  much,  I’m 
afraid,”  he  said.  “ If  I talked  about  it,  I should  have  to 
coniine  myself  to  theories  and  — and  dreams.” 

“ The  moment  I saw  your  card,  Peter,  I knew  why  j^ou  had 
come  here,”  she  said,  trying  to  steady  her  voice.  “ It  was 
to  induce  me  to  go  back  to  my  husband.  You  don’t 
know  how  it  hurts  me  to  give  you  pain.  I love  you  — I 
love  you  as  I love  Uncle  Tom  and  Aunt  Mary.  You  are 
apart  of  me.  But  oh,  you  can’t  understand!  I knew 
you  could  not.  You  have  never  made  any  mistakes  — you 
have  never  lived.  It  is  useless.  I won’t  go  back  to  him. 
If  you  stayed  here  for  weeks  you  could  not  make  me 
change  my  mind.” 

He  was  silent. 

“ You  think  that  I could  have  prevented  — this,  if  I had 
been  less  selfish,”  she  said. 

“ Where  you  are  concerned,  Honora,  I have  but  one 
desire,”  he  answered,  “ and  that  is  to  see  you  happy  — in 
the  best  sense  of  the  term.  If  I could  induce  you  to  go 
back  and  give  your  husband  another  trial,  I should  return 
with  a lighter  heart.  You  ask  me  whether  I think  you 
have  been  selfish.  I answer  frankty  that  I think  you  have. 
I don’t  pretend  to  say  your  husband  has  not  been  selfish  also. 
Neither  of  you  have  ever  tried,  apparently,  to  make  your 
marriage  a success.  It  can’t  be  done  without  an  honest 
effort.  You  have  abandoned  the  most  serious  and  sacred 
enterprise  in  the  world  as  lightly  as  though  it  had  been 
a piece  of  embroidery.  All  that  I can  gather  from  your 
remarks  is  that  you  have  left  your  husband  because  you 
have  grown  tired  of  him.” 


WYLIE  STREET 


403 


“Yes,”  said  Honora,  “and  you  can  never  realize  how 
tired,  unless  you  knew  him  as  I did.  When  love  dies,  it 
turns  into  hate.” 

He  rose,  and  walked  to  the  other  end  of  the  room,  and 
turned. 

“ Could  you  be  induced,”  he  said,  “ for  the  sake  of  your 
aunt  and  uncle,  if  not  for  your  own,  to  consider  a legal 
separation  ? ” 

For  an  instant  she  stared  at  him  hopelessly,  and  then 
she  buried  her  face  in  her  hands. 

“No,”  she  cried.  “No,  I couldn’t.  You  don’t  know 
what  you  ask.” 

He  went  to  her,  and  laid  his  hand  lightly  on  her  shoulder. 

“ I think  I do,”  he  said. 

There  was  a moment’s  tense  silence,  and  then  she  got 
to  her  feet  and  looked  at  him  proudly. 

“ Yes,”  she  cried,  “ it  is  true.  And  I am  not  ashamed  of 
it.  I have  discovered  what  love  is,  and  what  life  is,  and 
I am  going  to  take  them  while  I can.” 

She  saw  the  blood  slowly  leave  his  face,  and  his  hands 
tighten.  It  was  not  until  then  that  she  guessed  at  the 
depth  of  his  wound,  and  knew  that  it  was  unhealed.  For 
him  had  been  reserved  this  supreme  irony,  that  he  should 
come  here  to  plead  for  her  husband,  and  learn  from  her 
own  lips  that  she  loved  another  man.  She  was  suddenly 
filled  with  awe,  though  he  turned  away  from  her  that  she 
might  not  see  his  face.  And  she  sought  in  vain  for  words. 
She  touched  his  hand,  fearfully,  and  now  it  was  he  who 
trembled. 

“ Peter,”  she  exclaimed,  “ why  do  you  bother  with  me  ? 
I — I am  what  I am.  I can’t  help  it.  I was  made  so.  I 
cannot  tell  you  that  I am  sorry  for  what  I have  done  — 
for  what  I am  going  to  do.  I will  not  lie  to  you  — and 
you  forced  me  to  speak.  I know  that  you  don’t  understand, 
and  that  I caused  you  pain,  and  that  I shall  cause  — them 
pain.  It  may  be  selfishness  — I don’t  know.  God  alone 
knows.  Whatever  it  is,  it  is  stronger  than  I.  It  is  what 
I am.  Though  I were  to  be  thrown  into  eternal  fire  I 
would  not  renounce  it.” 


For  a few  moments  she  stood  motionless  where  he  had  left  her 


WYLIE  STREET 


405 


She  looked  at  him  again,  and  her  breath  caught.  While 
she  had  been  speaking,  he  had  changed.  There  was  a fire 
in  his  eyes  she  had  never  seen  before,  in  all  the  years  she 
had  known  him. 

44  Honora,”  he  said  quietly,  u the  man  who  has  done  this 
is  a scoundrel.” 

She  stared  at  him,  doubting  her  senses,  her  pupils  wide 
with  terror. 

44  How  dare  you,  Peter  ! How  dare  you  ! ” she  cried. 

44 1 dare  to  speak  the  truth,”  he  said,  and  crossed  the 
room  to  where  his  hat  was  lying  and  picked  it  up.  She 
watched  him  as  in  a trance.  Then  he  came  back  to  her. 

44  Some  day,  perhaps,  you  will  forgive  me  for  saying 
that,  Honora.  I hope  that  day  will  come,  although  I shall 
never  regret  having  said  it.  I have  caused  you  pain. 
Sometimes,  it  seems,  pain  is  unavoidable.  I hope  you  will 
remember  that,  with  the  exception  of  your  aunt  and 
uncle,  you  have  no  better  friend  than  I.  Nothing  can 
alter  that  friendship,  wherever  you  go,  whatever  you  do. 
Good-by.” 

He  caught  her  hand,  held  it  for  a moment  in  his  own, 
and  the  door  had  closed  before  she  realized  that  he  had 
gone.  For  a few  moments  she  stood  motionless  where  he 
had  left  her,  and  then  she  went  slowly  up  the  stairs  to  her 
own  room.  . . . 


CHAPTER  X 


THE  PRICE  OF  FREEDOM 

Had  he,  Hugh  Chiltern,  been  anathematized  from  all 
the  high  pulpits  of  the  world,  Honora’s  belief  in  him 
could  not  have  been  shaken.  Ivanhoe  and  the  Knights  of 
the  Round  Table  to  the  contrary,  there  is  no  chivalry  so 
exalted  as  that  of  a woman  who  loves,  no  courage  higher, 
no  endurance  greater.  Her  knowledge  is  complete;  and 
hers  the  supreme  faith  that  is  unmoved  by  calumny  and 
unbelief.  She  alone  knows.  The  old  Chiltern  did  not  be- 
long to  her  : hers  was  the  new  man  sprung  undefiled  from 
the  sacred  fire  of  their  love  ; and  in  that  fire  she,  too,  had 
been  born  again.  Peter  — even  Peter  had  no  power  to 
share  such  a faith,  though  what  he  had  said  of  Chiltern  had 
wounded  her  — wounded  her  because  Peter,  of  all  others, 
should  misjudge  and  condemn  him.  Sometimes  she  drew 
consolation  from  the  thought  that  Peter  had  never  seen 
him.  But  she  knew  he  could  not  understand  him,  or  her, 
or  what  they  had  passed  through : that  kind  of  under- 
standing comes  alone  through  experience. 

In  the  long  days  that  followed  she  thought  much  about 
Peter,  and  failed  to  comprehend  her  feelings  towards  him. 
She  told  herself  that  she  ought  to  hate  him  for  what  he 
had  so  cruelly  said,  and  at  times  indeed  her  resentment 
was  akin  to  hatred  : again,  his  face  rose  before  her  as  she 
had  seen  it  when  he  had  left  her,  and  she  was  swept  by  an 
incomprehensible  wave  of  tenderness  and  reverence.  And 
yet  — paradox  of  paradoxes — Chiltern  possessed  her! 

On  the  days  when  his  letters  came  it  was  as  his  emissary 
that  the  sun  shone  to  give  her  light  in  darkness,  and  she 
went  about  the  house  with  a song  on  her  lips.  They  were 
filled,  these  letters,  with  an  elixir  of  which  she  drank  thirst- 
ily to  behold  visions,  and  the  weariness  of  her  exile  fell 
away.  The  elixir  of  High  Purpose.  Never  was  love  on 

406 


THE  PRICE  OF  FREEDOM 


407 


such  a plane ! He  lifting  her,  — no  marvel  in  this ; and 
she — by  a magic  power  of  levitation  at  which  she  never 
ceased  to  wonder  — sustaining  him.  By  her  aid  he  would 
make  something  of  himself  which  would  be  worthy  of  her. 
At  last  he  had  the  incentive  to  enable  him  to  take  his  place 
in  the  world.  He  pictured  their  future  life  at  Grenoble 
until  her  heart  was  strained  with  yearning  for  it  to  begin. 
Here  would  be  duty,  — let  him  who  would  gainsay  it,  — 
duty  and  love  combined  with  a wondrous  happiness.  He 
at  a man’s  labour,  she  at  a woman’s ; labour  not  for  them- 
selves alone,  but  for  others.  A paradise  such  as  never 
was  heard  of  — a God-fearing  paradise,  and  the  reward 
of  courage. 

He  told  her  he  could  not  go  to  Grenoble  now  and  begin 
the  life  without  her.  Until  that  blessed  time  he  would 
remain  a wanderer,  avoiding  the  haunts  of  men.  First  he 
had  cruised  in  the  Folly , and  then  camped  and  shot  in 
Canada  ; and  again,  as  winter  drew  on  apace,  had  chartered 
another  yacht,  a larger  one,  and  sailed  away  for  the  West 
Indies,  whence  the  letters  came,  stamped  in  strange  ports, 
and  sometimes  as  many  as  five  together.  He,  too,  was  in 
exile  until  his  regeneration  should  begin. 

Well  he  might  be  at  such  a time.  One  bright  day  in 
early  winter  Honora,  returning  from  her  walk  across  the 
bleak  plains  in  the  hope  of  letters,  found  newspapers  and 
periodicals  instead,  addressed  in  an  unknown  hand.  It 
matters  not  whose  hand:  Honora  never  sought  to  know. 
She  had  long  regarded  as  inevitable  this  acutest  phase  of 
her  martyrdom,  and  the  long  nights  of  tears  when  entire 
paragraphs  of  the  loathed  stuff  she  had  burned  ran  cease- 
lessly in  her  mind.  Would  she  had  burned  it  before  read- 
ing it ! An  insensate  curiosity  had  seized  her,  and  she 
had  read  and  read  again  until  it  was  beyond  the  reach  of 
fire. 

Save  for  its  effect  upon  Honora,  it  is  immaterial  to 
this  chronicle.  It  was  merely  the  heaviest  of  her  heavy 
payments  for  liberty.  But  what,  she  asked  herself  shame- 
fully, would  be  its  effect  upon  Chiltern  ? Her  face 
burned  that  she  should  doubt  his  loyalty  and  love,  and 


408 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


yet  — the  question  returned.  There  had  been  a sketch  of 
Howard,  dwelling  upon  the  prominence  into  which  he  had 
sprung  through  his  connection  with  Mr.  Wing.  There 
had  been  a sketch  of  her  ; and  how  she  had  taken  what 
the  writer  was  pleased  to  call  Society  by  storm  : it  had 
been  intimated,  with  a cruelty  known  only  to  writers  of 
such  paragraphs,  that  ambition  to  marry  a Chiltern  had 
been  her  motive!  There  had  been  a sketch  of  Chiltern’s 
career,  in  carefully  veiled  but  thoroughly  comprehensible 
language,  which  might  have  made  a Bluebeard  shudder. 
This,  of  course,  she  bore  best  of  all ; or,  let  it  be  said 
rather,  that  it  cost  her  the  least  suffering.  Was  it  not 
she  who  had  changed  and  redeemed  him  ? 

What  tortured  her  most  was  the  intimation  that  Chil- 
tern’s family  connections  were  bringing  pressure  to  bear 
upon  him  to  save  him  from  this  supremest  of  all  his  follies. 
And  when  she  thought  of  this  the  strange  eyes  and  baf- 
fling expression  of  Mrs.  Grainger  rose  before  her.  Was 
it  true  ? And  if  true,  would  Chiltern  resist,  even  as  she, 
Honora,  had  resisted,  loyally?  Might  this  love  for  her 
not  be  another  of  his  mad  caprices  ? 

How  Honora  hated  herself  for  the  thought  that  thus  in- 
sistently returned  at  this  period  of  snows  and  blasts  ! It 
was  January.  Had  he  seen  the  newspapers?  He  had 
not,  for  he  was  cruising  : he  had,  for  of  course  they  had 
been  sent  him.  And  he  must  have  received,  from  his  rela- 
tives, protesting  letters.  A fortnight  passed,  and  her 
mail  contained  nothing  from  him  ! Perhaps  something 
had  happened  to  his  yacht  ! Visions  of  shipwreck  caused 
her  to  scan  the  newspapers  for  storms  at  sea,  — but  the 
shipwreck  that  haunted  her  most  was  that  of  her  happi- 
ness. How  easy  it  is  to  doubt  in  exile,  with  happiness 
so  far  away  ! One  morning,  when  the  wind  dashed  the 
snow  against  her  windows,  she  found  it  impossible  to  rise. 

If  the  big  doctor  suspected  the  cause  of  her  illness,  Ma- 
thilde  knew  it.  The  maid  tended  her  day  and  night,  and 
sought,  with  the  tact  of  her  nation,  to  console  and  reassure 
her.  The  little  woman  next  door  came  and  sat  by  her 
bedside.  Cruel  and  infinitely  happy  little  woman,  filled 


THE  PRICE  OF  FREEDOM 


409 


with  compassion,  who  brought  delicacies  in  the  making 
of  which  she  had  spent  precious  hours,  and  which  Honora 
could  not  eat  ! The  Lord,  when  he  had  made  Mrs.  Mayo, 
had  mercifully  withheld  the  gift  of  imagination.  One 
topic  filled  her,  she  lived  to  one  end  : her  Alpha  and 
Omega  were  husband  and  children,  and  she  talked  con- 
tinually of  their  goodness  and  badness,  of  their  illnesses, 
of  their  health,  of  their  likes  and  dislikes,  of  their  accom- 
plishments and  defects,  until  one  day  a surprising  thing 
happened.  Surprising  for  Mrs.  Mayo. 

“ Oh,  don’t ! ” cried  Honora,  suddenly.  44  Oh,  don’t  ! I 
can’t  bear  it.” 

44  What  is  it  ? ” cried  Mrs.  Mayo,  frightened  out  of  her 
wits.  44  A turn  ? Shall  I telephone  for  the  doctor  ? ” 

44  No,”  replied  Honora,  44  but  — but  I can’t  talk  any  more 
— to-day.” 

She  apologized  on  the  morrow,  as  she  held  Mrs.  Mayo’s 
hand. 

44  It  — it  was  your  happiness,”  she  said ; 44 1 was  unstrung. 
1 couldn’t  listen  to  it.  Forgive  me.” 

The  little  woman  burst  into  tears,  and  kissed  her  as  she 
sat  in  bed. 

“Forgive  you,  deary!  ” she  cried.  44 1 never  thought.” 

44  It  has  been  so  easy  for  you,”  Honora  faltered. 

44  Yes,  it  has.  I ought  to  thank  God,  and  I do  — every 
night.” 

She  looked  long  and  earnestly,  through  her  tears,  at  the 
young  lady  from  the  far  away  East  as  she  lay  against  the 
lace  pillows,  her  paleness  enhanced  by  the  pink  gown,  her 
dark  hair  in  two  great  braids  on  her  shoulders. 

44  And  to  think  how  pretty  you  are  ! ” she  exclaimed. 

It  was  thus  she  expressed  her  opinion  of  mankind  in 
general,  outside  of  her  own  family  circle.  Once  she  had 
passionately  desired  beauty,  the  high  school  and  the  story 
of  Helen  of  Troy  notwithstanding.  Now  she  began  to 
look  at  it  askance,  as  a fatal  gift ; and  to  pity,  rather  than 
envy,  its  possessors. 

As  a by-industry,  Mrs.  Mayo  raised  geraniums  and  car- 
nations in  her  front  cellar,  near  the  furnace,  and  once  in  a 


410 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


while  Peggy,  with  the  pulled-molasses  hair,  or  chubby 
Abraham  Lincoln,  would  come  puffing  up  Honora’s  stairs 
under  the  weight  of  a flower-pot  and  deposit  it  trium- 
phantly on  the  table  at  Honora’s  bedside.  Abraham  Lin- 
coln did  not  object  to  being  kissed  : he  had,  at  least,  grown 
to  accept  the  process  as  one  of  the  unaccountable  mys- 
teries of  life.  But  something  happened  to  him  one  after- 
noon, on  the  occasion  of  his  giving  proof  of  an  intellect 
which  may  eventually  bring  him,  in  the  footsteps  of  his 
great  namesake,  to  the  White  House.  Entering  Honora’s 
front  door,  he  saw  on  the  hall  table  a number  of  letters 
which  the  cook  (not  gifted  with  his  brains)  had  left  there. 
He  seized  them  in  one  fat  hand,  while  with  the  other 
he  hugged  the  flower-pot  to  his  breast,  mounted  the  steps, 
and  arrived,  breathless  but  radiant,  on  the  threshold  of 
the  beautiful  lady’s  room,  and  there  calamity  overtook 
him  in  the  shape  of  one  of  the  thousand  articles  which 
are  left  on  the  floor  purposely  to  trip  up  little  boys. 

Great  was  the  disaster.  Letters,  geranium,  pieces  of 
flower-pot,  a quantity  of  black  earth,  and  a howling  Abra- 
ham Lincoln  bestrewed  the  floor.  And  similar  episodes, 
in  his  brief  experience  with  this  world,  had  not  brought 
rewards.  It  was  from  sheer  amazement  that  his  tears 
ceased  to  flow  — amazement  and  lack  of  breath  — for  the 
beautiful  lady  sprang  up  and  seized  him  in  her  arms,  and 
called  Mathilde,  who  eventually  brought  a white  and  gold 
box.  And  while  Abraham  sat  consuming  its  contents  in 
ecstasy  he  suddenly  realized  that  the  beautiful  lady  had 
forgotten  him.  She  had  picked  up  the  letters,  every 
one,  and  stood  reading  them  with  parted  lips  and  staring 
eyes.  . . . 

It  was  Mathilde  who  saved  him  from  a violent  illness, 
closing  the  box  and  leading  him  downstairs,  and  whis- 
pered something  incomprehensible  in  his  ear  as  she  pointed 
him  homeward. 

“ Le  vrai  medecin  — c’est  toi,  mon  mignon.” 

There  was  a reason  why  Chiltern’s  letters  had  not 
arrived,  and  great  were  Honora’s  self-reproach  and  peni- 
tence. With  a party  of  Englishmen  he  had  gone  up  into 


THE  PRICE  OF  FREEDOM 


411 


the  interior  of  a Central  American  country  to  visit  some 
famous  ruins.  He  sent  her  photographs  of  them,  and  of 
the  Englishmen,  and  of  himself.  Yes,  he  had  seen  the 
newspapers.  If  she  had  not  seen  them,  she  was  not  to 
read  them  if  they  came  to  her.  And  if  she  had,  she  was 
to  remember  that  their  love  was  too  sacred  to  be  soiled, 
and  too  perfect  to  be  troubled.  As  for  himself,  as  she 
knew,  he  was  a changed  man,  who  thought  of  his  former 
life  with  loathing.  She  had  made  him  clean,  and  filled 
him  with  a new  strength. 

The  winter  passed.  The  last  snow  melted  on  the  little 
grass  plot,  which  changed  by  patches  from  brown  to  em- 
erald green;  and  the  children  ran  over  it  again,  and 
tracked  it  in  the  soft  places,  but  Honora  only  smiled. 
Warm,  still  days  were  interspersed  between  the  windy 
ones,  when  the  sky  was  turquoise  blue,  when  the  very 
river  banks  were  steeped  in  new  colours,  when  the  distant, 
shadowy  mountains  became  real.  Liberty  ran  riot  within 
her.  If  he  thought  with  loathing  on  his  former  life,  so 
did  she.  Only  a year  ago  she  had  been  penned  up  in  a 
New  York  street  in  that  prison-house  of  her  own  making, 
hemmed  in  by  surroundings  which  she  had  now  learned 
to  detest  from  her  soul. 

A few  more  penalties  remained  to  be  paid,  and  the  heavi- 
est of  these  was  her  letter  to  her  aunt  and  uncle.  Even 
as  they  had  accepted  other  things  in  life,  so  had  they 
accepted  the  hardest  of  all  to  bear  — Honora’ s divorce. 
A memorable  letter  her  Uncle  Tom  had  written  her  after 
Peter’s  return  to  tell  them  that  remonstrances  were  use- 
less ! She  was  their  daughter  in  all  but  name,  and  they 
would  not  forsake  her.  When  she  should  have  obtained 
her  divorce,  she  should  go  back  to  them.  Their  house, 
which  had  been  her  home,  should  always  remain  so.  Ho- 
nora wept  and  pondered  long  over  that  letter.  Should 
she  write  and  tell  them  the  truth,  as  she  had  told  Peter  ? 
It  was  not  because  she  was  ashamed  of  the  truth  that 
she  had  kept  it  from  them  throughout  the  winter:  it 
was  because  she  wished  to  spare  them  as  long  as  possible. 
Cruellest  circumstance  of  all,  that  a love  so  divine  as  hers 


412 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


should  not  be  understood  by  them,  and  should  cause  them 
infinite  pain  ! 

The  weeks  and  months  slipped  by.  Their  letters,  after 
that  first  one,  were  such  as  she  had  always  received  from 
them : accounts  of  the  weather,  and  of  the  doings  of  her 
friends  at  home.  But  now  the  time  was  at  hand  when  she 
must  prepare  them  for  her  marriage  with  Chiltern;  for  they 
would  expect  her  in  St.  Louis,  and  she  could  not  go  there. 
And  if  she  wrote  them,  they  might  try  to  stop  the  mar- 
riage, or  at  least  to  delay  it  for  some  years. 

Was  it  possible  that  a lingering  doubt  remained  in  her 
mind  that  to  postpone  her  happiness  would  perhaps  be  to 
lose  it  ? In  her  exile  she  had  learned  enough  to  know  that 
a divorced  woman  is  like  a rudderless  ship  at  sea,  at  the 
mercy  of  wind  and  wave  and  current.  She  could  not  go 
back  to  her  life  in  St.  Louis  : her  situation  there  would  be 
unbearable : her  friends  would  not  be  the  same  friends. 
No,  she  had  crossed  her  Rubicon  and  destroyed  the  bridge  : 
deep  within  her  she  felt  that  delay  would  be  fatal,  both  to 
her  and  Chiltern.  Long  enough  had  the  banner  of  their 
love  been  trailed  in  the  dust. 

Summer  came  again,  with  its  anniversaries  and  its  drag- 
ging, interminable  weeks  : demoralizing  summer,  when 
Mrs.  Mayo  quite  frankly  appeared  at  her  side  window  in 
a dressing  sacque,  and  Honora  longed  to  do  the  same. 
But  time  never  stands  absolutely  still,  and  the  day  arrived 
when  Mr.  Beckwith  called  in  a carriage.  Honora,  with 
an  audibly  beating  heart,  got  into  it,  and  they  drove 
down  town,  past  the  department  store  where  Mr.  Mayo 
spent  his  days,  and  new  blocks  of  banks  and  business 
houses  that  flanked  the  wide  street,  where  the  roaring  and 
clanging  of  the  ubiquitous  trolley  cars  resounded. 

Honora  could  not  define  her  sensations  — excitement  and 
shame  and  fear  and  hope  and  joy  were  so  commingled. 
The  colours  of  the  red  and  yellow  brick  had  never  been  so 
brilliant  in  the  sunshine.  They  stopped  before  the  new 
court-house  and  climbed  the  granite  steps.  In  her  sensi- 
tive state,  Honora  thought  that  some  of  the  people  paused  to 
look  after  them,  and  that  some  were  smiling.  One  woman, 


THE  PRICE  OF  FREEDOM 


413 


she  thought,  looked  compassionate.  Within,  they  crossed 
the  marble  pavement,  the  Honourable  Dave  handed  her  into 
an  elevator,  and  when  it  stopped  she  followed  him  as  in  a 
dream  to  an  oak-panelled  door  marked  with  a legend  she 
did  not  read.  Within  was  an  office,  with  leather  chairs,  a 
large  oak  desk,  a spittoon,  and  portraits  of  grave  legal 
gentlemen  on  the  wall. 

“ This  is  Judge  Whitman’s  office,”  explained  the  Honour- 
able Dave.  “ He’ll  let  you  stay  here  until  the  case  is  called.” 

“Is  he  the  judge  — before  whom  — the  case  is  to  be 
tried  ? ” asked  Honora. 

“ He  surely  is,”  answered  the  Honourable  Dave.  “ Whit- 
man’s a good  friend  of  mine.  In  fact,  I may  say,  without 
exaggeration,  I had  something  to  do  with  his  election. 
Now  you  mustn’t  get  flustered,”  he  added.  “ It  isn’t  any- 
thing like  as  bad  as  goin’  to  the  dentist.  It  don’t  amount 
to  shucks,  as  we  used  to  say  in  Missouri.” 

With  these  cheerful  words  of  encouragement  he  slipped 
out  of  a side  door  into  what  was  evidently  the  court  room, 
for  Honora  heard  a droning.  After  a long  interval  he 
reappeared  and  beckoned  her  with  a crooked  finger.  She 
arose  and  followed  him  into  the  court  room. 

All  was  bustle  and  confusion  there,  and  her  counsel 
whispered  that  they  were  breaking  up  for  the  day.  The 
judge  was  stretching  himself  ; several  men  who  must  have 
been  lawyers,  and  with  whom  Mr.  Beckwith  was  exchang- 
ing amenities  behind  the  railing,  were  arranging  their  books 
and  papers ; some  of  the  people  were  leaving,  and  others 
talking  in  groups  about  the  room.  The  Honourable  Dave 
whispered  to  the  judge,  a tall,  lank,  cadaverous  gentleman 
with  iron-grey  hair,  who  nodded.  Honora  was  led  forward. 
The  Honourable  Dave,  standing  very  close  to  the  judge 
and  some  distance  from  her,  read  in  a low  voice  something 
that  she  could  not  catch  — supposedly  the  petition.  It 
was  all  quite  as  vague  to  Flonora  as  the  trial  of  the  Jack 
of  Hearts;  the  buzzing  of  the  groups  still  continued  around 
the  court  room,  and  nobody  appeared  in  the  least  inter- 
ested. This  was  a comfort,  though  it  robbed  the  ceremony 
of  all  vestige  of  reality.  It  seemed  incredible  that  the 


414 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


majestic  and  awful  Institution  of  the  ages  could  be  dis- 
solved with  no  smoke  or  fire,  with  such  infinite  indiffer- 
ence, and  so  much  spitting.  What  was  the  use  of  all  the 
pomp  and  circumstance  and  ceremony  to  tie  the  knot  if  it 
could  be  cut  in  the  routine  of  a day’s  business  ? 

The  solemn  fact  that  she  was  being  put  under  oath 
meant  nothing  to  her.  This,  too,  was  slurred  and  mum- 
bled. She  found  herself,  trembling,  answering  questions 
now  from  her  counsel,  now  from  the  judge ; and  it  is  to 
be  doubted  to  this  day  whether  either  heard  her  answers. 
Most  convenient  and  considerate  questions  they  were. 
When  and  where  she  was  married,  how  long  she  had  lived 
with  her  husband,  what  happened  when  they  ceased  to 
live  together,  and  had  he  failed  ever  since  to  contribute  to 
her  support?  Mercifully,  Mr.  Beckwith  was  in  the  habit 
of  coaching  his  wards  beforehand.  A reputable  citizen  of 
Salomon  City  was  produced  to  prove  her  residence,  and 
somebody  cried  out  something,  not  loudly,  in  which  she 
heard  the  name  of  Spence  mentioned  twice.  The  judge 
said,  “ Take  your  decree,”  and  picked  up  a roll  of  papers 
and  walked  away.  Her  knees  became  weak,  she  looked 
around  her  dizzily,  and  beheld  the  triumphant  professional 
smile  of  the  Honourable  Dave  Beckwith. 

“ It  didn’t  hurt  much,  did  it  ? ” he  asked.  “ Allow  me 
to  congratulate  you.” 

“ Is  it  -—is  it  all  over  ? ” she  said,  quite  dazed. 

“Just  like  that,”  he  said.  “You’re  free.” 

“ Free  ! ” The  word  rang  in  her  ears  as  she  drove  back  to 
the  little  house  that  had  been  her  home.  The  Honourable 
Dave  lifted  his  felt  hat  as  he  handed  her  out  of  the  carriage, 
and  said  he  would  call  again  in  the  evening  to  see  if  he 
could  do  anything  further  for  her.  Mathilde,  who  had 
been  watching  from  the  window,  opened  the  door,  and 
led  her  mistress  into  the  parlour. 

“It’s  — it’s  all  over,  Mathilde,”  she  said. 

“ Mon  dieu,  madame,”  said  Mathilde,  “ c’est  simple 
comme  bonjour  ! ” 


CHAPTER  XI 


IN  WHICH  IT  IS  ALL  DONE  OYER  AGAIN 

All  morning  she  had  gazed  on  the  shining  reaches  of 
the  Hudson,  their  colour  deepening  to  blue  as  she  neared 
the  sea.  A gold-bound  volume  of  Shelley,  with  his  name 
on  the  fly-leaf,  lay  in  her  lap.  And  two  lines  she  repeated 
softly  to  herself  — two  lines  that  held  a vision  : — 

“ He  was  as  the  sun  in  his  fierce  youth , 

As  terrible  and  lovely  as  a tempest;” 

She  summoned  him  out  of  the  chaos  of  the  past,  and  the 
past  became  the  present,  and  he  stood  before  her  as  though 
in  the  flesh.  Nay,  she  heard  his  voice,  his  laugh,  she  even 
recognized  again  the  smouldering  flames  in  his  eyes  as  he 
glanced  into  hers,  and  his  characteristic  manners  and  ges- 
tures. Honora  wondered.  In  vain,  during  those  long 
months  of  exile  had  she  tried  to  reconstruct  him  thus  — 
the  vision  in  its  entirety  would  not  come  : rare,  fleeting, 
partial,  and  tantalizing  glimpses  she  had  been  vouchsafed, 
it  is  true.  The  whole  of  him  had  been  withheld  until 
this  breathless  hour  before  the  dawn  of  her  happiness. 

Yet,  though  his  own  impatient  spirit  had  fared  forth  to 

415 

; 


416 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


meet  her  with  this  premature  gift  of  his  attributes,  she  had 
to  fight  the  growing  fear  within  her.  Now  that  the  days 
of  suffering  were  as  they  had  not  been,  insistent  questions 
dinned  in  her  ears  : was  she  entitled  to  the  joys  to  come  ? 
What  had  she  done  to  earn  them  ? Had  hers  not  been  an 
attempt,  on  a gigantic  scale,  to  cheat  the  fates?  Nor 
could  she  say  whether  this  feeling  were  a wholly  natural 
failure  to  grasp  a future  too  big,  or  the  old  sense  of  the 
unreality  of  events  that  had  followed  her  so  persistently. 

The  Hudson  disappeared.  Factories,  bridges,  beflagged 
week-end  resorts,  ramshackle  houses,  and  blocks  of  new 
buildings  were  scattered  here  and  there.  The  train  was 
running  on  a causeway  between  miles  of  tenements  where 
women  and  children,  overtaken  by  lassitude,  hung  out  of 
the  windows  : then  the  blackness  of  the  tunnel,  and 
Honora  closed  her  eyes.  Four  minutes,  three  minutes, 
two  minutes.  . . . The  motion  ceased.  At  the  steps  of  the 
car  a uniformed  station  porter  seized  her  bag,  and  she 
started  to  walk  down  the  long,  narrow  platform.  Sud- 
denly she  halted. 

“ Drop  anything,  Miss  ? ” inquired  the  porter. 

“ No,”  answered  Honora,  faintly.  He  looked  at  her  in 
concern,  and  she  began  to  walk  on  again,  more  slowly. 

It  had  suddenly  come  over  her  that  the  man  she  was 
going  to  meet  she  scarcely  knew  ! Shyness  seized  her,  a 
shyness  that  bordered  on  panic.  And  what  was  he 
really  like,  that  she  should  put  her  whole  trust  in  him  ? 
She  glanced  behind  her  : that  way  was  closed:  she  had 
a mad  desire  to  get  away,  to  hide,  to  think.  It  must 
have  been  an  obsession  that  had  possessed  her  all  these 
months.  The  porter  was  looking  again,  and  he  voiced 
her  predicament. 

“ There’s  only  one  way  out,  Miss.” 

And  then,  amongst  the  figures  massed  behind  the  exit  in 
the  grill,  she  saw  him,  his  face  red-bronze  with  the  sea 
tan,  his  crisp,  curly  head  bared,  his  eyes  alight  with  a 
terrifying  welcome  ; and  a tremor  of  a fear  akin  to  ecstasy 
ran  through  her : the  fear  of  the  women  of  days  gone  by 
whose  courage  carried  them  to  the  postern  or  the  strand, 


IN  WHICH  IT  IS  ALL  DONE  OVER  AGAIN  417 


and  fainted  there.  She  could  have  taken  no  step  farther 
— and  there  was  no  need.  New  strength  flowed  from  the 
hand  she  held  that  was  to  carry  her  on  and  on.  . . . 

He  spoke  her  name.  He  led  her  passive,  obedient, 
through  the  press  to  the  side  street,  and  then  he  paused 
and  looked  into  her  burning  face. 

“ I have  you  at  last,”  he  said.  “ Are  you  happy  ? ” 

“ I don’t  know,”  she  faltered.  “ Oh,  Hugh,  it  all 
seems  so  strange  ! I don’t  know  what  I have  done.” 

“ I know,”  he  said  exultantly  ; “ but  to  save  my  soul  I 
can’t  believe  it.” 

She  watched  him,  bewildered,  while  he  put  her  maid 
into  a cab,  and  by  an  effort  roused  herself. 

“ Where  are  you  going,  Hugh  ? ” 

“To  get  married,”  he  replied  promptly. 

She  pulled  down  her  veil. 

“ Please  be  sensible,”  she  implored.  “ I’ve  arranged  to 
go  to  a hotel.” 

“ What  hotel  ? ” 

“ The  — the  Barnstable,”  she  said.  The  place  had 
come  to  her  memory  on  the  train.  “It’s  very  nice  and  — 
and  quiet  — so  I’ve  been  told.  And  I’ve  telegraphed  for 
my  rooms.” 

“ I’ll  humour  you  this  once,”  he  answered,  and  gave  the 
order. 

She  got  into  the  carriage.  It  had  blue  cushions  with 
the  familiar  smell  of  carriage  upholstery,  and  the  people 
in  the  street  still  hurried  about  their  business  as  though 
nothing  in  particular  were  happening.  The  horses 
started,  and  some  forgotten  key  in  her  brain  was  touched 
as  Chiltern  raised  her  veil  again. 

“You’ll  tear  it,  Hugh,”  she  said,  and  perforce  lifted  it 
herself.  Her  eyes  met  his  — and  she  awoke.  Not  to 
memories  or  regrets,  but  to  the  future,  for  the  recording 
angel  had  mercifully  destroyed  his  book. 

“ Did  you  miss  me  ? ” she  said. 

“ Miss  you  ! My  God,  Ilonora,  how  can  you  ask  ? 
When  I look  back  upon  these  last  months,  I don’t  see  how 
I ever  passed  through  them.  And  you  are  changed,”  he 
2c 


418 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


said.  “ I could  not  have  believed  it  possible,  but  you  are. 
You  are  — you  are  finer.” 

He  bad  chosen  his  word  exquisitely.  And  then,  as 
they  trotted  sedately  through  Madison  Avenue,  he 
strained  her  in  his  'arms  and  kissed  her. 

“ Oh,  Hugh  ! ” she  cried,  scarlet,  as  she  disengaged  her- 
self, “you  mustn’t  — here  ! ” 

“You’re  free  !”  he  exclaimed.  “You’re  mine  at  last! 
I can’t  believe  it ! Look  at  me,  and  tell  me  so.” 

She  tried. 

“Yes,”  she  faltered. 

“Yes  — what?” 

“Yes.  I — I am  yours.” 

She  looked  out  of  the  window  to  avoid  those  eyes. 
Was  this  New  York,  or  Jerusalem?  Were  these  the 
streets  through  which  she  had  driven  and  trod  in  her 
former  life  ? Her  whole  soul  cried  out  denial.  No  epi- 
sode, no  accusing  reminiscences  stood  out  — not  one  : the 
very  corners  were  changed.  Would  it  all  change  back 
again  if  he  were  to  lessen  the  insistent  pressure  on  the 
hand  in  her  lap  ? 

“ Honora?  ” 

“Yes?”  she  answered,  with  a start. 

“ You  missed  me  ? Look  at  me  and  tell  me  the  truth.” 

“ The  truth  ! ” she  faltered,  and  shuddered.  The  con- 
trast was  too  great  — the  horror  of  it  too  great  for  her  to 
speak  of.  The  pen  of  Dante  had  not  been  adequate  ! 
“ Don’t  ask  me,  Hugh,”  she  begged,  “ I can’t  talk  about  it 
— I never  shall  be  able  to  talk  about  it.  If  I had  not 
loved  you,  I should  have  died.” 

How  deeply  he  felt  and  understood  and  sympathized 
she  knew  by  the  quivering  pressure  on  her  hand.  Ah,  if 
he  had  not ! If  he  had  failed  to  grasp  the  meaning  of  her 
purgatory  — ! 

“You  are  wonderful,  Honora,”  was  what  he  said  in  a 
voice  broken  by  emotion. 

She  thanked  him  with  one  fleeting,  tearful  glance  that  was 
as  a grant  of  all  her  priceless  possessions.  The  carriage 
stopped,  but  it  was  some  moments  before  they  realized  it. 


IN  WHICH  IT  IS  ALL  DONE  OVER  AGAIN  419 


“You  may  come  up  in  a little  while,”  she  whispered, 
“and  lunch  with  me  — if  you  like.” 

“ If  I like  ! ” he  repeated. 

.But  she  was  on  the  sidewalk,  following  the  bell  boy 
into  the  cool,  marble-lined  area  of  the  hotel.  A smiling 
clerk  handed  her  a pen,  and  set  the  new  universe  to  rock- 
ing. 

“Mrs.  Leffingwell,  I presume?  We  have  your  tele- 
gram.” 

Mrs.  Leffingwell ! Who  was  that  person  ? For  an 
instant  she  stood  blankly  holding  the  pen,  and  then  she 
wrote  rapidly,  if  a trifle  unsteadily : — 

“ Mrs.  Leffingwell  and  maid.”  A pause.  Where  was 
her  home?  Then  she  added  the  words,  “St.  Louis.” 

Her  rooms  were  above  the  narrow  canon  of  the  side 
street,  looking  over  the  roofs  of  the  inevitable  brown- 
stone  fronts  opposite.  While  Mathilde,  in  the  adjoining 
chamber,  unpacked  her  bag,  Honora  stood  gazing  out  of 
the  sitting-room  windows,  trying  to  collect  her  thoughts. 
Ller  spirits  had  unaccountably  fallen,  the  sense  of  home- 
lessness that  had  pursued  her  all  these  months  overtaken 
her  once  more.  Never,  never,  she  told  herself,  would  she 
enter  a hotel  again  alone ; and  when  at  last  he  came  she 
clung  to  him  with  a passion  that  thrilled  him  the  more 
because  he  could  not  understand  it. 

“Hugh — you  will  care  for  me?”  she  cried. 

He  kissed  away  her  tears.  He  could  not  follow  her; 
he  only  knew  that  what  he  held  to  him  was  a woman  such 
as  he  had  never  known  before.  Tender,  and  again 
strangely  and  fiercely  tender:  an  instrument  of  such  mi- 
raculous delicacy  as  to  respond,  quivering,  to  the  lightest 
touch;  an  harmonious  and  perfect  blending  of  strength  and 
weakness,  of  joy  and  sorrow,  — of  all  the  warring  elements 
in  the  world.  What  he  felt  was  the  supreme  masculine 
joy  of  possession. 

At  last  they  sat  down  on  either  side  of  the  white  cloth 
the  waiter  had  laid,  for  even  the  gods  must  eat.  Not  that 
our  deified  mortals  ate  much  on  this  occasion.  Vesta  pre- 
sided once  more,  and  after  the  feast  was  over  gently  led 


420 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


them  down  the  slopes  until  certain  practical  affairs  began 
to  take  shape  in  the  mind  of  the  man.  Presently  he  looked 
at  his  watch,  and  then  at  the  woman,  and  made  a sugges- 
tion. 

“ Marry  you  now  — this  afternoon!  ” she  cried,  aghast. 
“ Hugh,  are  you  in  your  right  senses  ? ” 

“ Yes,”  he  said,  “ I’m  reasonable  for  the  first  time  in  my 
life.” 

She  laughed,  and  immediately  became  serious.  But 
when  she  sought  to  marshal  her  arguments,  she  found 
that  they  had  fled. 

“ Oh,  but  I couldn’t,”  she  answered.  “ And  besides, 
there  are  so  many  things  I ought'  to  do.  I — I haven’t 
any  clothes.” 

But  this  was  a plea  he  could  not  be  expected  to  recog- 
nize. He  saw  no  reason  why  she  could  not  buy  as  many 
as  she  wanted  after  the  ceremony. 

“ Is  that  all  ? ” he  demanded. 

“No  — that  isn’t  all.  Can’t  you  see  that  — that  we 
ought  to  wait,  Hugh  ? ” 

“No,”  he  exclaimed,  “I  can’t  see  it.  I can  only  see 
that  every  moment  of  waiting  would  be  a misery  for  us 
both.  I can  only  see  that  the  situation,  as  it  is  to-day,  is 
an  intolerable  one  for  you.” 

She  had  not  expected  him  to  see  this. 

“ There  are  — others  to  be  thought  of,”  she  said,  after 
a moment’s  hesitation. 

“ What  others  ? ” 

The  answer  she  should  have  made  died  on  her  lips. 

“It  seems  so  — indecorous,  Hugh.” 

“Indecorous!  ” he  cried,  and  pushed  back  his  chair  and 
rose.  “ What’s  indecorous  about  it  ? To  leave  you  here 
alone  in  a hotel  in  New  York  would  not  only  be  indeco- 
rous, but  senseless.  How  long  would  you  put  it  off  ? a 
week  — a month — a year?  Where  would  you  go  in  the 
meantime,  and  what  would  you  do  ? ” 

“ But  your  friends,  Hugh  — and  mine  ? ” 

“ Friends!  What  have  they  got  to  do  with  it  ? ” 

It  was  the  woman,  now,  who  for  a moment  turned 


IN  WHICH  IT  IS  ALL  DONE  OVER  AGAIN  421 


practical  — and  for  the  man’s  sake.  She  loved,  and  the 
fair  fabric  of  the  future  which  they  were  to  weave  to- 
gether, and  the  plans  with  which  his  letters  had  been 
filled  and  of  which  she  had  dreamed  in  exile,  had  become 
to-day  as  the  stuff  of  which  moonbeams  are  made.  As  she 
looked  up  at  him,  eternity  itself  did  not  seem  long  enough 
for  the  fulfilment  of  that  love.  But  he?  Would  the 
time  not  come  when  he  would  demand  something  more  ? 
and  suppose  that  something  were  denied  ? She  tried  to 
rouse  herself,  to  think,  to  consider  a situation  in  which  — 
her  instinct  had  whispered  just  once  — there  must  be  some 
hidden  danger:  but  the  electric  touch  of  his  hand  de- 
stroyed the  process,  and  made  her  incapable  of  reason. 

“ . . .What  should  we  gain  by  a week’s  or  a fortnight’s 
delay,”  he  was  saying,  “ except  so  much  misery  ? ” 

She  looked  around  the  hotel  sitting-room,  and  tried  to 
imagine  the  desolation  of  it,  stripped  of  his  presence. 
Why  not  ? There  was  reason  in  what  he  said.  And  yet, 
if  she  had  known  it,  it  was  not  to  reason  she  yielded,  but 
to  the  touch  of  his  hand. 

“We  will  be  married  to-day,”  he  decreed.  “I  have 
planned  it  all.  I have  bought  the  Adhemar , the  yacht 
which  I chartered  last  winter.  She  is  here.  We’ll  go 
off  on  her  together,  away  from  the  world,  for  as  long  as 
you  like.  And  then,”  he  ended  triumphantly,  “then  we’ll 
go  back  to  Grenoble  and  begin  our  life.” 

“And  begin  our  life!”  she  repeated.  But  it  was  not 
to  him  that  she  spoke.  “ Hugh,  I positively  have  to  have 
some  clothes.” 

“ Clothes ! ” His  voice  expressed  his  contempt  for  the 
mundane  thought. 

“ Yes,  clothes,”  she  repeated  resolutely. 

He  looked  at  his  watch  once  more. 

“ Very  well,”  he  said,  “ we’ll  get  ’em  on  the  way.” 

“ On  the  way  ? ” she  asked. 

“We’ll  have  to  have  a marriage  license,  I’m  afraid,” 
he  explained  apologetically. 

Honora  grew  crimson.  A marriage  license ! 

She  yielded,  of  course.  Who  could  resist  him  ? Nor 


422 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


need  the  details  of  that  interminable  journey  down  the 
crowded  artery  of  Broadway  to  the  Centre  of  Things  be 
entered  into.  An  ignoble  errand,  Honora  thought;  and 
she  sat  very  still,  with  flushed  cheeks,  in  the  corner  of  the 
carriage.  Chiltern’s  finer  feelings  came  to  her  rescue. 
He,  too,  resented  this  senseless  demand  of  civilization  as 
an  indignity  to  their  Olympian  loves.  And  he  was  a man 
to  chafe  at  all  restraints.  But  at  last  the  odious  thing 
was  over,  grim  and  implacable  Law  satisfied  after  he  had 
compelled  them  to  stand  in  line  for  an  interminable  period 
before  his  grill,  and  mingle  with  those  whom  he  chose, 
in  his  ignorance,  to  call  their  peers.  Honora  felt  de- 
graded as  they  emerged  with  the  hateful  paper,  bought  at 
such  a price.  The  City  Hall  Park,  with  its  moving 
streams  of  people,  etched  itself  in  her  memory. 

“Leave  me,  Hugh,”  she  said;  “I  will  take  this  carriage 
— you  must  get  another  one.” 

For  once,  he  accepted  his  dismissal  with  comparative 
meekness. 

“ When  shall  I come  ? ” he  asked. 

She  smiled  a little,  in  spite  of  herself. 

“You  may  come  for  me  at  six  o’clock,”  she  replied. 

“ Six  o’clock  ! ” he  exclaimed  ; but  accepted  with  resig- 
nation and  closed  the  carriage  door.  Enigmatical  sex  ! 

Enigmatical  sex  indeed  ! Honora  spent  a feverish  after- 
noon, rest  and  reflection  being  things  she  feared.  An 
afternoon  in  familiar  places;  and  (strangest  of  all  facts  to 
be  recorded ! ) memories  and  regrets  troubled  her  not  at  all. 
Her  old  dressmakers,  her  old  milliners,  welcomed  her  as 
one  risen,  radiant,  from  the  grave  ; risen,  in  their  estima- 
tion, to  a higher  life.  Honora  knew  this,  and  was  indif- 
ferent to  the  wealth  of  meaning  that  lay  behind  their 
discretion.  Milliners  and  dressmakers  read  the  news- 
papers and  periodicals  — certain  periodicals.  Well  they 
knew  that  the  lady  they  flattered  was  the  future  Mrs. 
Hugh  Chiltern. 

Nothing  whatever  of  an  indelicate  nature  happened. 
There  was  no  mention  of  where  to  send  the  bill,  or  of 
whom  to  send  it  to.  Such  things  as  she  bought  on  the 


IN  WHICH  IT  IS  ALL  DONE  OVER  AGAIN  423 


spot  were  placed  in  her  carriage.  And  happiest  of  all 
omissions,  she  met  no  one  she  knew.  The  praise  that 
Madame  Barriere  lavished  on  Honora’s  figure  was  not 
flattery,  because  the  Paris  models  fitted  her  to  perfection. 
A little  after  five  she  returned  to  her  hotel,  to  a Mathilde 
in  a high  state  of  suppressed  excitement.  And  at  six,  the 
appointed  fateful  hour,  arrayed  in  a new  street  gown  of 
dark  green  cloth,  she  stood  awaiting  him. 

He  was  no  laggard.  The  bell  on  the  church  near  by 
was  still  singing  from  the  last  stroke  when  he  knocked, 
flung  open  the  door,  and  stood  for  a moment  staring  at 
her.  Not  that  she  had  been  shabby  when  he  had  wished 
to  marry  her  at  noon:  no  self-respecting  woman  is  ever 
shabby ; not  that  her  present  costume  had  any  of  the  ele- 
ments of  overdress ; far  from  it.  Being  a woman,  she 
had  her  thrill  of  triumph  at  his  exclamation.  Diana  had 
no  need,  perhaps,  of  a French  dressmaker,  but  it  is  an 
open  question  whether  she  would  have  scorned  them. 
Honora  stood  motionless,  but  her  smile  for  him  was  like 
the  first  quivering  shaft  of  day.  He  opened  a box,  and 
with  a strange  mixture  of  impetuosity  and  reverence  came 
forward.  And  she  saw  that  he  held  in  his  hand  a string 
of  great,  glistening  pearls. 

“ They  were  my  mother’s,”  he  said.  “I  have  had  them 
restrung  — for  you.” 

“ Oh,  Hugh  ! ” she  cried.  She  could  find  no  words  to 
express  the  tremor  within.  And  she  stood  passively,  her 
eyes  half  closed,  while  he  clasped  the  string  around  the 
lace  collar  that  pressed  the  slender  column  of  her  neck  — 
and  kissed  her. 

Even  the  humble  beings  who  work  in  hotels  are  re- 
sponsive to  unusual  disturbances  in  the  ether.  At  the 
Barnstable,  a gala  note  prevailed:  bell  boys,  porters, 
clerk,  and  cashier,  proud  of  their  sudden  wisdom,  were 
wreathed  in  smiles.  A new  automobile,  in  Chiltern’s 
colours,  with  his  crest  on  the  panel,  was  panting  beside 
the  curb. 

“ I meant  to  have  had  it  this  morning,”  he  apologized 
as  he  handed  her  in,  “ but  it  wasn’t  ready  in  time.” 


424 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


Honora  heard  him,  and  said  something  in  reply.  She 
tried  in  vain  to  rouse  herself  from  the  lethargy  into  which 
she  had  fallen,  to  cast  off  the  spell.  Up  Fifth  Avenue 
they  sped,  past  meaningless  houses,  to  the  Park.  The 
crystal  air  of  evening  was  suffused  with  the  level  evening 
light;  and  as  they  wound  in  and  out  under  the  spreading 
trees  she  caught  glimpses  across  the  shrubbery  of  the 
deepening  blue  of  waters.  Pools  of  mystery  were  her  eyes. 

The  upper  West  Side  is  a definite  place  on  the  map,  and 
full,  undoubtedly,  of  palpitating  human  joys  and  sorrows. 
So  far  as  Honora  was  concerned,  it  might  have  been  Bag- 
dad. The  automobile  had  stopped  before  a residence,  and 
she  found  herself  mounting  the  steps  at  Chiltern’s  side. 
A Swedish  maid  opened  the  door. 

“ Is  Mr.  White  at  home  ? ” Chiltern  asked. 

It  seemed  that  “the  Reverend  Mr.  White  ” was.  He 
appeared,  a portly  gentleman  with  frock  coat  and  lawn 
tie  who  resembled  the  man  in  the  moon.  His  head,  like 
polished  ivory,  increased  the  beaming  effect  of  his  wel- 
come, and  the  hand  that  pressed  Honora’s  was  large  and 
soft  and  warm.  But  dreams  are  queer  things,  in  which  no 
events  surprise  us. 

The  reverend  gentleman,  as  he  greeted  Chiltern,  pro- 
nounced his  name  with  unction.  His  air  of  hospitality,  of 
good-fellowship,  of  taking  the  world  as  he  found  it,  could 
not  have  been  improved  upon.  He  made  it  apparent  at 
once  that  nothing  could  surprise  him.  It  was  the  most 
natural  circumstance  in  life  that  two  people  should  arrive 
at  his  house  in  an  automobile  at  half-past  six  in  the  even- 
ing and  wish  to  get  married:  if  they  chose  this  method 
instead  of  the  one  involving  awnings  and  policemen  and 
uncomfortably-arrayed  relations  and  friends,  it  was  none 
of  Mr.  White’s  affair.  He  led  them  into  the  Gothic  sanc- 
tum at  the  rear  of  the  house  where  the  famous  sermons 
were  written  that  shook  the  sounding-board  of  the  temple 
where  the  gentleman  preached, — the  sermons  that  some- 
times got  into  the  newspapers.  Mr.  White  cleared  his 
throat. 

“I  am — very  familiar  with  your  name,  Mr.  Chiltern,” 


IN  WHICH  IT  IS  ALL  DONE  OVER  AGAIN  425 


he  said,  “ and  it  is  a pleasure  to  be  able  to  serve  you,  and 
the  lady  who  is  so  shortly  to  be  your  wife.  Your  servant 
arrived  with  your  note  at  four  o’clock.  Ten  minutes 
later,  and  I should  have  missed  him.” 

And  then  Honora  heard  Chiltern  saying  somewhat 
coldly:  — 

“In  order  to  save  time,  Mr.  White,  I wish  to  tell  you 
that  Mrs.  Leffingwell  has  been  divorced — ” 

The  Reverend  Mr.  White  put  up  a hand  before  him,  and 
looked  down  at  the  carpet,  as  one  who  would  not  dwell 
upon  painful  things. 

“ Unfortunate  — ahem  — mistakes  will  occur  in  life,  Mr. 
Chiltern  — in  the  best  of  lives,”  he  replied.  “ Say  no 
more  about  it.  I am  sure,  looking  at  you  both  — ” 

“Very  well  then,”  said  Chiltern  brusquely,  “I  knew 
you  would  have  to  know.  And  here,”  he  added,  “ is 
an  essential  paper.” 

A few  minutes  later,  in  continuation  of  the  same  strange 
dream,  Honora  was  standing  at  Chiltern’s  side  and  the 
Reverend  Mr.  White  was  addressing  them.  What  he 
said  — a part  of  it  at  least  — seemed  curiously  familiar. 
Chiltern  put  a ring  on  a finger  of  her  ungloved  hand.  It 
was  a supreme  moment  in  her  destiny  — this  she  knew. 
Between  her  responses  she  repeated  it  to  herself,  but  the 
mighty  fact  refused  to  be  registered.  And  then,  suddenly, 
rang  out  the  words:  — ■ 

“ Those  whom  Grod  hath  joined  together  let  no  man  put 
asunder .” 

Those  whom  God  hath  joined  together  ! Mr.  White 
was  congratulating  her.  Other  people  were  in  the  room 
— the  minister’s  son,  his  wife,  his  brother-in-law.  She 
was  in  the  street  again,  in  the  automobile,  without  know- 
ing how  she  got  there,  and  Chiltern  close  beside  her  in 
the  limousine. 

“ My  wife  ! ” he  whispered. 

Was  she  ? Could  it  be  true,  be  lasting,  be  binding  for 
ever  and  ever  ? Her  hand  pressed  his  convulsively. 

“ Oh,  Hugh  ! ” she  cried,  “ care  for  me  — stay  by  me  — 
forever.  Will  you  promise  ? ” 


426 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


“ I promise,  Honora,”  he  repeated.  “ Henceforth  we 
are  one.” 


Honora  would  have  prolonged  forever  that  honeymoon 
on  summer  seas.  In  those  blissful  days  she  was  content 
to  sit  by  the  hour  watching  him  as,  bareheaded  in  the 


IN  WHICH  IT  IS  ALL  DONE  OVER  AGAIN  427 


damp  salt  breeze,  he  sailed  the  great  schooner  and  gave 
sharp  orders  to  the  crew.  He  was  a man  who  would  be 
obeyed,  and  even  his  flashes  of  temper  pleased  her.  He 
was  her  master,  too,  and  she  gloried  in  the  fact.  By  the 
aid  of  the  precious  light  within  her,  she  studied  him. 

He  loved  her  mightily,  fiercely,  but  withal  tenderly. 
With  her  alone  he  was  infinitely  tender,  and  it  seemed  that 
something  in  him  cried  out  for  battle  against  the  rest  of 
the  world.  He  had  his  way,  in  port  and  out  of  it.  He 
brooked  no  opposition,  and  delighted  to  carry,  against  his 
captain’s  advice,  more  canvas  than  was  wise  when  it  blew 
heavily.  But  the  yacht,  like  a woman,  seemed  a creature 
of  his  will;  to  know  no  fear  when  she  felt  his  guiding 
hand,  even  though  the  green  water  ran  in  the  scuppers. 

And  every  day  anew  she  scanned  his  face,  even  as  he 
scanned  the  face  of  the  waters.  What  was  she  searching 
for?  To  have  so  much  is  to  become  miserly,  to  fear  lest 
a grain  of  the  precious  store  be  lost.  On  the  second  day 
they  had  anchored,  for  an  hour  or  two,  between  the  sandy 
headlands  of  a small  New  England  port,  and  she  had  stood 
on  the  deck  watching  his  receding  figure  under  the  flag 
of  the  gasoline  launch  as  it  made  its  way  towards  the 
deserted  wharves.  Beyond  the  wharves  was  an  elm- 
arched  village  street,  and  above  the  verdure  rose  the 
white  cupola  of  the  house  of  some  prosperous  sea-captain 
of  bygone  times.  Honora  had  not  wished  to  go  ashore. 
First  he  had  begged,  and  then  he  had  laughed  as  he  had 
leaped  into  the  launch.  She  lay  in  a chaise  longue,  watch- 
ing it  swinging  idly  at  the  dock. 

The  night  before  he  had  written  letters  and  telegrams. 
Once  he  had  looked  up  at  her  as  she  sat  with  a book  in 
her  hand  across  the  saloon,  and  caught  her  eyes.  She  had 
been  pretending  not  to  watch  him. 

“Wedding  announcements,”  he  said. 

And  she  had  smiled  back  at  him  bravely.  Such  was 
the  first  acknowledgment  between  them  that  the  world 
existed. 

“ A little  late,”  he  observed,  smiling  in  his  turn  as  he 
changed  his  pen,  “ but  they’ll  have  to  make  allowances  for 


428 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


the  exigencies  of  the  situation.  And  they’ve  been  after 
me  to  settle  down  for  so  many  years  that  they  ought  to 
be  thankful  to  get  them  at  all.  I’ve  told  them  that  after 
a decent  period  they  may  come  to  Grenoble  — in  the  late 
autumn.  We  don’t  want  anybody  before  then,  do  we, 
Honora?  ” 

“No,”  she  said  faintly;  and  added,  “I  shall  always  be 
satisfied  with  you  alone,  Hugh.” 

He  laughed  happily,  and  presently  she  went  up  on  deck 
and  stood  with  her  face  to  the  breeze.  There  were  no  sounds 
save  the  musical  beat  of  the  water  against  the  strakes,  and 
the  low  hum  of  wind  on  the  towering  vibrant  sails.  One 
moulten  silver  star  stood  out  above  all  others.  To  the 
northward,  somewhere  beyond  the  spot  where  sea  and 
sky  met  in  the  hidden  kiss  of  night,  was  Newport, — were 
his  relations  and  her  friends.  What  did  they  think  ? He, 
at  least,  had  no  anxieties  about  the  world,  why  should 
she  ? Their  defiance  of  it  had  been  no  greater  than  that 
of  an  hundred  others  on  whom  it  had  smiled  benignly. 
But  had  not  the  others  truckled  more  to  its  conventions  ? 
Little  she  cared  about  it,  indeed,  and  if  he  had  turned  the 
prow  of  the  Adhemar  towards  the  unpeopled  places  of  the 
earth,  her  joy  would  have  been  untroubled. 

One  after  another  the  days  glided  by,  while  with  the 
sharpened  senses  of  a great  love  she  watched  for  a sign  of 
the  thing  that  slept  in  him  — of  the  thing  that  had  driven 
him  home  from  his  wanderings  to  re-create  his  life.  When 
it  awoke,  she  would  have  to  share  him ; now  he  was  hers 
alone.  Her  feelings  towards  this  thing  did  not  assume 
the  proportions  of  jealousy  or  fear ; they  were  merely 
alert,  vaguely  disquieting.  The  sleeping  thing  was  not  a 
monster.  No,  but  it  might  grow  into  one,  if  its  appetite 
were  not  satisfied,  and  blame  her ! 

She  told  herself  that,  had  he  lacked  ambition,  she  could 
not  have  loved  him,  and  did  not  stop  to  reflect  upon  the 
completeness  of  her  satisfaction  with  the  Viking.  He 
seemed,  indeed,  in  these  weeks,  one  whom  the  sea  has 
marked  for  its  own,  and  her  delight  in  watching  him  as 
he  moved  about  the  boat  never  palled.  His  nose  reminded 


IN  WHICH  IT  IS  ALL  DONE  OVER  AGAIN  429 


her  of  the  prow  of  a ship  of  war,  and  his  deep-set  eyes 
were  continually  searching  the  horizon  for  an  enemy.  Such 
were  her  fancies.  In  the  early  morning  when  he  donned 
his  sleeveless  bathing  suit,  she  could  never  resist  the  temp- 
tation to  follow  him  on  deck  to  see  him  plunge  into  the 
cold  ocean:  it  gave  her  a delightful  little  shiver  — and  he 
was  made  like  one  of  the  gods  of  Valhalla. 

She  had  discovered,  too,  in  these  intimate  days,  that  he 
had  the  Northman’s  temperament ; she  both  loved  and 
dreaded  his  moods.  And  sometimes,  when  the  yacht 
glided  over  smoother  seas,  it  was  his  pleasure  to  read  to 
her,  even  poetry  and  the  great  epics.  That  he  should  be 
fond  of  the  cruel  Scotch  ballads  she  was  not  surprised ; 
but  his  familiarity  with  the  book  of  Job,  and  his  love  for 
it,  astonished  her.  It  was  a singular  library  that  he  had 
put  on  board  the  Adhemar. 

One  evening  when  the  sails  flapped  idly  and  the  blocks 
rattled,  when  they  had  been  watching  in  silence  the  flaming 
orange  of  the  sunset  above  the  amethystine  Camden  hills, 
he  spoke  the  words  for  which  she  had  been  waiting. 

“ Honora,  what  do  you  say  to  going  back  to  Grenoble  ? ” 

She  succeeded  in  smiling  at  him. 

“ Whenever  you  like,  Hugh,”  she  said. 

So  the  bowsprit  of  the  Adhemar  was  turned  home- 
wards ; and  with  every  league  of  water  they  left  behind 
them  his  excitement  and  impatience  seemed  to  grow. 

“ I can’t  wait  to  show  it  to  you,  Honora  — to  see  you 
in  it,”  he  exclaimed.  “I  have  so  long  pictured  you  there, 
and  our  life  as  it  will  be.” 


CHAPTER  XII 


THE  ENTRANCE  INTO  EDEN 

They  had  travelled  through  the  night,  and  in  the  early 
morning  left  the  express  at  a junction.  Honora  sat  in 
the  straight-backed  seat  of  the  smaller  train  with  parted 
lips  and  beating  heart,  gazing  now  and  again  at  the  pearly 
mists  rising  from  the  little  river  valley  they  were  climb- 
ing. Chiltern  was  like  a schoolboy. 

“We’ll  soon  be  there,”  he  cried,  but  it  was  nearly  nine 
o’clock  when  they  reached  the  Gothic  station  that  marked 
the  end  of  the  line.  It  was  a Chiltern  line,  he  told  her, 
and  she  was  already  within  the  feudal  domain.  Time  in- 
deed that  she  awoke  ! She  reached  the  platform  to  con- 
front a group  of  upturned,  staring  faces,  and  for  the 
moment  her  courage  failed  her.  Somehow,  with  Chil- 
tern’s  help,  she  made  her  way  to  a waiting  omnibus 
backed  up  against  the  boards.  The  footman  touched  his 
hat,  the  grey-headed  coachman  saluted,  and  they  got  in. 
As  the  horses  started  off  at  a quick  trot,  Honora  saw  that 
the  group  on  the  station  platform  had  with  one  consent 
swung  about  to  stare  after  them. 

They  passed  through  the  main  street  of  the  town,  lined 
with  plate-glass  windows  and  lively  signs,  and  already 
bustling  with  the  business  of  the  day,  through  humbler 
thoroughfares,  and  presently  rumbled  over  a bridge  that 
spanned  a rushing  stream  confined  between  the  foundation 
walls  of  mills.  Hundreds  of  yards  of  mills  stretched 
away  on  either  side ; mills  with  windows  wide  open,  and 
within  them  Honora  heard  the  clicking  and  roaring  of 
machinery,  and  saw  the  men  and  women  at  their  daily 
tasks.  Life  was  a strange  thing  that  they  should  be  doing 
this  while  she  should  be  going  to  live  in  luxury  at  a great 

430 


THE  ENTRANCE  INTO  EDEN 


431 


country  place.  On  one  of  the  walls  she  read  the  legend  : 
Chiltern  and  Company. 

“ They  still  keep  our  name,”  said  Hugh, 44  although  they 
are  in  the  trust.” 

He  pointed  out  to  her,  with  an  air  of  pride,  every  land- 
mark by  the  roadside.  In  future  they  were  to  have  a 


fell  ^ 1 ' threa 

' TTrl-in-pQ  fV 


v*_  m 


\ new  meaning  — they  were  to  be 
shared  with  her.  And  he  spoke 
of  the  times  as  child  and  youth, 
home  from  the  seashore  or  college, 
he  had  driven  over  the  same  road.  It 
wound  to  the  left,  behind  the  mills, 
threaded  a village  of  neat  wooden  houses 
x where  the  better  class  of  operatives  lived, 
^ N reached  the  river  again,  and  turned  at  last 
r / \ __  through  a brick  gateway,  past  a lodge  in 
i;  <■  0»  The  dense  shade  of  sheltering  boughs,  into  a 
wooded  drive  that  climbed,  by  gentle  degrees,  a slope. 
Human  care  for  generations  had  given  to  the  place  a 
tradition.  People  had  lived  here  and  loved  those  trees  — 
his  people.  And  could  it  be  that  she  was  to  inherit  all 
this,  with  him  ? Was  her  name  really  Chiltern  ? 

The  beating  of  her  heart  became  a pain  when  in  the 
distance  through  the  spreading  branches  she  caught  a 


432 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


glimpse  of  the  long,  low  outline  of  the  house,  a vision  at 
once  familiar  and  unreal.  How  often  in  the  months  gone 
by  had  she  called  up  the  memory  of  the  photograph  she 
had  once  seen,  only  to  doubt  the  more  that  she  should 
ever  behold  that  house  and  these  trees  with  him  by  her 
side ! They  drew  up  before  the  door,  and  a venerable, 
ruddy-faced  butler  stood  gravely  on  the  steps  to  welcome 
them.  Hugh  leaped  out.  He  was  still  the  schoolboy. 

“Starling,”  he  said,  “this  is  Mrs.  Chiltern.” 

Honora  smiled  tremulously. 

“ How  do  you  do,  Starling  ? ” she  said. 

“ Starling’s  an  old  friend,  Honora.  He’s  been  here  ever 
since  I can  remember.” 

The  blue  eyes  of  the  old  servant  were  fixed  on  her  with 
a strange,  searching  expression.  Was  it  compassion  she 
read  in  them,  on  this  that  should  be  the  happiest  of  her 
days  ? In  that  instant,  unaccountably,  her  heart  went 
out  to  the  old  man ; and  something  of  what  he  had  seen, 
and  something  of  what  was  even  now  passing  within  him, 
came  to  her  intuitively.  It  was  as  though,  unexpectedly, 
she  had  found  a friend  — and  a friend  who  had  had  no 
previous  intentions  of  friendship. 

“ I’m  sure  I wish  you  happiness,  madame,  — and  Mr. 
Hugh,”  he  said  in  a voice  not  altogether  firm. 

“ Happiness!  ” cried  Hugh.  “ I’ve  never  known  what  it 
was  before  now,  Starling.” 

The  old  man’s  eyes  glistened. 

“ And  you’ve  come  to  stay,  sir  ? ” 

“ All  my  life,  Starling,”  said  Hugh. 

They  entered  the  hall.  It  was  wide  and  cool,  white 
panelled  to  the  ceiling,  with  a dark  oak  floor.  At  the 
back  of  it  was  an  eighteenth-century  stairway,  with  a 
band  of  red  carpet  running  up  the  steps,  and  a wrought- 
iron  guard  with  a velvet-covered  rail.  Halfway  up,  the 
stairway  divided  at  a landing,  lighted  by  great  triple 
windows  of  small  panes. 

“ You  may  have  breakfast  in  half  an  hour,  Starling,”  said 
Chiltern,  and  led  Honora  up  the  stairs  into  the  east 
wing,  where  he  flung  open  one  of  the  high  mahogany 


THE  ENTRANCE  INTO  EDEN 


433 


doors  on  the  south  side.  “ These  are  your  rooms,  Honora. 
I have  had  Keller  do  them  all  over  for  you,  and  I hope 
you’ll  like  them.  If  you  don’t,  we’ll  change  them  again.” 

Her  answer  was  an  exclamation  of  delight.  There  was 
a bedroom  in  pink,  with  brocaded  satin  on  the  walls,  and 
an  oriel  window  thrust  out  over  the  garden ; a panelled 
boudoir  at  the  corner  of  the  house,  with  a marble  mantel 
before  which  one  of  Marie  Antoinette’s  duchesses  had 
warmed  her  feet;  and  shelves  lined  with  gold-lettered 
books.  From  its  windows,  across  the  flowering  shrubbery 
and  through  the  trees,  she  saw  the  gleaming  waters  of  a 
lake,  and  the  hills  beyond.  From  this  view  she  turned, 
and  caught  her  breath,  and  threw  her  arms  about  her  hus- 
band’s neck.  He  was  astonished  to  see  that  her  eyes  were 
filled  with  tears. 

“ Oh,  Hugh,”  she  cried,  “ it’s  too  perfect ! It  almost 
makes  me  afraid.” 

“ We  will  be  very  happy,  dearest,”  he  said,  and  as  he 
kissed  her  he  laughed  at  the  fates. 

“ I hope  so  — I pray  so,”  she  said,  as  she  clung  to  him. 
“ But  — don’t  laugh,  — I can’t  bear  it.” 

He  patted  her  cheek. 

“ What  a strange  little  girl  you  are ! ” he  said.  “ I sup- 
pose I shouldn’t  be  mad  about  you  if  you  weren’t  that 
way.  Sometimes  I wonder  how  many  women  I have 
married.” 

She  smiled  at  him  through  her  tears. 

“ Isn’t  that  polygamy,  Hugh  ? ” she  asked. 

It  was  all  like  a breathless  tale  out  of  one  of  the  wonder 
books  of  youth.  So,  at  least,  it  seemed  to  Honora  as  she 
stood,  refreshed  with  a new  white  linen  gown,  hesitating 
on  the  threshold  of  her  door  before  descending.  Some 
time  the  bell  must  ring,  or  the  cock  crow,  or  the  fairy 
beckon  with  a wand,  and  she  would  have  to  go  back. 
Back  where  ? She  did  not  know  — she  could  not  remem- 
ber. Cinderella  dreaming  by  the  embers,  perhaps. 

He  was  awaiting  her  in  the  little  breakfast  room,  its 
glass  casements  open  to  the  garden  with  the  wall  and  the 
round  stone  seat.  The  simmering  urn,  the  white  cloth, 


434 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


the  shining  silver,  the  big  green  melons  that  the  hot  sum- 
mer sun  had  ripened  for  them  alone,  and  Hugh’s  eyes  as 
they  rested  on  her  — such  was  her  illusion.  Nor  was 
it  quite  dispelled  when  he  lighted  a pipe  and  they  started 
to  explore  their  Eden,  wandering  through  chambers  with 
low  ceilings  in  the  old  part  of  the  house,  and  larger,  higher 
apartments  in  the  portion  that  was  called  new.  In  the 
great  darkened  library,  side  by  side  against  the  Spanish 
leather  on  the  walls,  hung  the  portraits  of  his  father  and 
mother  in  heavy  frames  of  gilt. 

Her  husband  was  pleased  that  she  should  remain  so  long 
before  them.  And  for  a while,  as  she  stood  lost  in  con- 
templation, he  did  not  speak.  Once  she  glanced  at  him, 
and  then  back  at  the  stern  face  of  the  General,  — stern, 
yet  kindly.  The  eyes,  deep-set  under  bushy  brows,  like 
Hugh’s,  were  full  of  fire;  and  yet  the  artist  had  made  them 
human,  too.  A dark,  reddish  brown,  close-trimmed  mus- 
tache and  beard  hid  the  mouth  and  chin.  Hugh  had 
inherited  the  nose,  but  the  father’s  forehead  was  wider  and 
fuller.  Hugh  was  at  once  a newer  type,  and  an  older. 
The  face  and  figure  of  the  General  were  characteristic  of 
the  mid-century  American  of  the  northern  states,  a mix- 
ture of  boldness  and  caution  and  puritanism,  who  had  won 
his  battles  in  war  and  commerce  by  a certain  native  qual- 
ity of  mind. 

“ I never  appreciated  him,”  said  Hugh  at  length,  “ until 
after  he  died  — long  after.  Until  now,  in  fact.  At  times 
we  were  good  friends,  and  then  something  he  would  say 
or  do  would  infuriate  me,  and  I would  purposely  make 
him  angry.  He  had  a time  and  a rule  for  everything, 
and  I could  not  bear  rules.  Breakfast  was  on  the  minute, 
an  hour  in  his  study  to  attend  to  affairs  about  the  place, 
so  many  hours  in  his  office  at  the  mills,  in  the  president’s 
room  at  the  bank,  vestry  and  charity  meetings  at  regular 
intervals.  No  movement  in  all  this  country  round  about 
was  ever  set  on  foot  without  him.  He  was  one  to  be 
finally  reckoned  with.  And  since  his  death,  many  proofs 
have  come  to  me  of  the  things  he  did  for  people  of  which 
the  world  was  ignorant.  I have  found  out  at  last  that  his 


THE  ENTRANCE  INTO  EDEN 


435 


way  of  life  was,  in  the  main,  the  right  way.  But  I know 
now,  Honora,”  he  added  soberly,  slipping  his  hand  within 
her  arm,  “ I know  now  that  without  you  I never  could  do 
all  I intend  to  do.” 

“ Oh,  don’t  say  that!  ” she  cried.  “ Don’t  say  that  ! ” 

“ Why  not  ? ” he  asked,  smiling  at  her  vehemence.  “ It 
is  not  a confession  of  weakness.  I had  the  determination,  it 
is  true.  I could  — I should  have  done  something,  but  my 
deeds  would  have  lacked  the  one  thing  needful  to  lift  them 
above  the  commonplace  — at  least  for  me.  You  are  the  in- 
spiration. With  you  here  beside  me,  I feel  that  I can  take 
up  this  work  with  joy.  Do  you  understand  ? ” 

She  pressed  his  hand  with  her  arm. 

“ Hugh,”  she  said  slowly,  “ I hope  that  I shall  be  a help, 
and  not — not  a hindrance.” 

“A  hindrance!”  he  exclaimed.  “You  don’t  know, 
you  can’t  realize,  what  you  are  to  me.” 

She  was  silent,  and  when  she  lifted  her  eyes  it  was  to 
rest  them  on  the  portrait  of  his  mother.  And  she  seemed 
to  read  in  the  sweet,  sad  eyes  a question  — a question  not 
to  be  put  into  words.  Chiltern,  following  her  gaze,  did 
not  speak:  for  a space  they  looked  at  the  portrait  to- 
gether, and  in  silence.  . . . 

From  one  end  of  the  house  to  the  other  they  went, 
Hugh  reviving  at  the  sight  of  familiar  objects  a hundred 
memories  of  his  childhood;  and  she  trying  to  imagine 
that  childhood,  so  different  from  her  own,  passed  in  this 
wonderful  place.  In  the  glass  cases  of  the  gun  room, 
among  the  shining,  blue  barrels  which  he  had  used  in  all 
parts  of  the  world,  was  the  little  shotgun  his  father  had 
had  made  for  him  when  he  was  twelve  years  old.  Hugh 
locked  the  door  after  them  when  they  came  out,  and  smiled 
as  he  put  the  key  in  his  pocket. 

“ My  destroying  days  are  over,”  he  declared. 

Honora  put  on  a linen  hat  and  they  took  the  gravelled 
path  to  the  stables,  where  the  horses,  one  by  one,  were 
brought  out  into  the  courtyard  for  their  inspection.  In 
anticipation  of  this  hour  there  was  a blood  bay  for  Honora, 
which  Chiltern  had  bought  in  New  York.  She  gave  a 


436 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


little  cry  of  delight  when  she  saw  the  horse  shining  in  the 
sunlight,  his  nostrils  in  the  air,  his  brown  eyes  clear,  his 
tapering  neck  patterned  with  veins.  And  then  there  was 
the  dairy,  with  the  fawn-coloured  cows  and  calves;  and 
the  hillside  pastures  that  ran  down  to  the  river,  and  the 
farm  lands  where  the  stubbled  grain  was  yellowing. 
They  came  back  by  the  path  that  wound  through  the 
trees  and  shrubbery  bordering  the  lake  to  the  walled  gar- 
den, ablaze  in  the  mellow  sunlight  with  reds  and  purples, 
salvias  and  zinnias,  dahlias,  gladioli,  and  asters. 

Here  he  left  her  for  a while,  sitting  dreamily  on  the 
stone  bench.  Mrs . Hugh  Qhiltern , of  Gcrenoble!  Over 
and  over  she  repeated  that  name  to  herself,  and  it  refused 
somehow  to  merge  with  her  identity.  Yet  was  she  mistress 
of  this  fair  domain;  of  that  house  which  had  sheltered  the 
race  for  a century,  and  the  lines  of  which  her  eye  caressed 
with  a loving  reverence;  and  the  Chiltern  pearls  even 
then  lay  hidden  around  her  throat.  Her  thoughts  went 
back,  at  this,  to  the  gentle  lady  to  whom  they  had  be- 
longed, and  whose  look  began  again  to  haunt  her.  Honora’s 
superstition  startled  her.  What  did  it  mean,  that  look? 
She  tried  to  recall  where  she  had  seen  it  before,  and  sud- 
denly remembered  that  the  eyes  of  the  old  butler  had 
held  something  not  unlike  it.  Compassionate  — this  was 
the  only  word  that  would  describe  it.  No,  it  had  not 
proclaimed  her  an  intruder,  though  it  may  have  been  ready 
to  do  so  the  moment  before  her  appearance ; for  there  was 
a note  of  surprise  in  it  — surprise  and  compassion. 

This  was  the  lady  in  whose  footsteps  she  was  to  walk, 
whose  charities  and  household  cares  she  was  to  assume! 
Tradition,  order,  observance,  responsibility,  authority  — 
it  was  difficult  to  imagine  these  as  a logical  part  of  the 
natural  sequence  of  her  life.  She  would  begin  to-day,  if 
God  would  only  grant  her  these  things  she  had  once  con- 
temned, and  that  seemed  now  so  precious.  Her  life — her 
real  life  — would  begin  to-day.  Why  not  ? How  hard  she 
would  strive  to  be  worthy  of  this  incomparable  gift!  It 
was  hers,  hers ! She  listened,  but  the  only  answer  was  the 
humming  of  the  bees  in  the  still  September  morning. 


THE  ENTRANCE  INTO  EDEN 


437 


Chiltern’s  voice  aroused  her.  He  was  standing  in  the 
breakfast  room  talking  to  the  old  butler. 

“You’re  sure  there  were  no  other  letters,  Starling,  be- 
sides these  bills  ? ” 

Honora  became  tense. 

“ No,  sir,”  she  heard  the  butler  say,  and  she  seemed  to 
detect  in  his  deferential  voice  the  note  of  anxiety  suppressed 
in  the  other’s.  “ I’m  most  particular  about  letters,  sir,  as 
one  who  lived  so  many  years  with  your  father  would  be. 
All  that  came  were  put  in  your  study,  Mr.  Hugh.” 

“ It  doesn’t  matter,”  answered  Chiltern,  carelessly,  and 
stepped  out  into  the  garden.  He  caught  sight  of  her, 
hesitated  the  fraction  of  a moment,  and  as  he  came  forward 
again  the  cloud  in  his  eyes  vanished.  And  yet  she  was 
aware  that  he  was  regarding  her  curiously. 

“ What,”  he  said  gayly,  “ still  here  ? ” 

“ It  is  too  beautiful  ! ” she  cried.  “ I could  sit  here  for- 
ever.” 

She  lifted  her  face  trustfully,  smilingly,  to  his,  and  he 
stooped  down  and  kissed  it.  . . . 

To  give  the  jealous  fates  not  the  least  chance  to  take 
offence,  the  higher  life  they  were  to  lead  began  at  once. 
And  yet  it  seemed  at  times  to  Honora  as  though  this 
higher  life  were  the  gift  the  fates  would  most  begrudge: 
a gift  reserved  for  others,  the  pretensions  to  which  were  a 
kind  of  knavery.  Merriment,  forgetfulness,  music,  the 
dance  ; the  cup  of  pleasure  and  the  feast  of  Babylon  — 
these  might  more  readily  have  been  vouchsafed;  even 
deemed  to  have  been  bargained  for.  But  to  take  that 
which  supposedly  had  been  renounced  — virtue,  sobriety, 
security,  respect  — would  this  be  endured  ? She  went 
about  it  breathlessly,  like  a thief. 

Never  was  there  a more  exemplary  household.  They 
rose  at  half-past  seven,  they  breakfasted  at  a quarter  after 
eight;  at  nine,  young  Mr.  Manning,  the  farm  superintend- 
ent, was  in  waiting,  and  Hugh  spent  two  or  more  hours 
in  his  company,  inspecting,  correcting,  planning;  for  two 
thousand  acres  of  the  original  Chiltern  estate  still  re- 
mained. Two  thousand  acres  which,  since  the  General’s 


438 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


death,  had  been  at  sixes  and  sevens.  The  General’s  study, 
which  was  Hugh’s  now,  was  piled  high  with  new  and 
bulky  books  on  cattle  and  cultivation  of  the  soil.  Govern- 
ment and  state  and  private  experts  came  and  made  tests 
and  went  away  again  ; new  machinery  arrived,  and  Hugh 
passed  hours  in  the  sun,  often  with  Honora  by  his  side, 
installing  it.  General  Chiltern  had  been  president  and 
founder  of  the  Grenoble  National  Bank,  and  Hugh  took 
up  his  duties  as  a director. 

Honora  sought,  with  an  energy  that  had  in  it  an  element 
of  desperation,  to  keep  pace  with  her  husband.  For  she 
was  determined  that  he  should  have  no  interests  in  which 
she  did  not  share.  In  those  first  days  it  was  her  dread  that 
he  might  grow  away  from  her,  and  instinct  told  her  that 
now  or  never  must  the  effort  be  made.  She,  too,  studied 
farming;  not  from  books,  but  from  him.  In  their  after- 
noon ride  along  the  shady  river  road,  which  was  the  event 
of  her  day,  she  encouraged  him  to  talk  of  his  plans  and 
problems,  that  he  might  thus  early  form  the  habit  of 
bringing  them  to  her.  And  the  unsuspecting  male  in  him 
responded,  innocent  of  the  simple  subterfuge.  After  an 
exhaustive  discourse  on  the  elements  lacking  in  the  valley 
soil,  to  which  she  had  listened  in  silent  intensity,  he  would 
exclaim:  — 

“ By  George,  Honora,  you’re  a continual  surprise  to  me. 
I had  no  idea  a woman  would  take  an  interest  in  these 
things,  or  grasp  them  the  way  you  do.” 

Lordly  commendations  these,  and  she  would  receive 
them  with  a flush  of  gratitude. 

Nor  was  it  ever  too  hot,  or  she  too  busy  with  household 
cares,  for  her  to  follow  him  to  the  scene  of  his  operations, 
whatever  these  might  be:  she  would  gladly  stand  for  an 
hour  listening  to  a consultation  with  the  veterinary  about 
an  ailing  cow.  Her  fear  was  lest  some  matter  of  like  im- 
portance should  escape  her.  She  had  private  conversations 
with  Mr.  Manning,  that  she  might  surprise  her  husband  by 
an  unsuspected  knowledge.  Such  were  her  ruses. 

The  housekeeper  who  had  come  up  from  New  York  was 
the  subject  of  a conjugal  conversation. 


THE  ENTRANCE  INTO  EDEN 


439 


44  I am  going  to  send  her  away,  Hugh,”  Honora  an- 
nounced. 44  I don’t  believe  — your  mother  had  one.” 

The  housekeeper’s  departure  was  the  beginning  of  Ho- 
nora's  real  intimacy  with  Starling.  Complicity,  perhaps, 
would  be  a better  word  for  the  commencement  of  this 
relationship.  First  of  all,  there  was  an  inspection  of  the 
family  treasures  : the  table-linen,  the  silver,  and  the  china 
— Sevres,  Royal  Worcester,  and  Minton,  and  the  price- 
less dinner-set 
of  Lowestoft 
which  had  be- 
longed to  Alex- 
ander Chiltern, 
reserved  for 
great  occasions  ' 
only  : occasions  ' 
that  Starling  knew 
by  heart ; their  dates, 
and  the  guests  the  Lowe- 
stoft had  honoured.  His 
air  was  ceremonial  as  he  • 
laid,  reverently,  the  sam- 
ple pieces  on  the  table 
before  her,  but  it  seemed 
to  Honora  that  he  spoke  as  one  who  re- 
calls departed  glories,  who  held  a convic- 
tion that  the  Lowestoft  would  never  be 
used  again. 

Although  by  unalterable  custom  he  submitted,  at  break- 
fast, the  menus  of  the  day  to  Hugh,  the  old  butler  came 
afterwards  to  Honora’s  boudoir  during  her  struggle  with 
the  account  books.  Sometimes  she  would  look  up  and 
surprise  his  eyes  fixed  upon  her,  and  one  day  she  found  at 
her  elbow  a long  list  made  out  in  a painstaking  hand. 

44  What’s  this,  Starling  ? ” she  asked. 

44 If  you  please,  madame,”  he  answered,  “they’re  the 
current  prices  in  the  markets  — here.” 

She  thanked  him.  Nor  was  his  exquisite  delicacy  in 
laying  stress  upon  the  locality  lost  upon  her.  That  he 


440 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


realized  the  magnitude  — for  her — of  the  task  to  which 
she  had  set  herself  ; that  he  sympathized  deeply  with  the 
spirit  which  had  undertaken  it,  she  was  as  sure  as  though 
he  had  said  so.  He  helped  her  thus  in  a dozen  unobtru- 
sive ways,  never  once  recognizing  her  ignorance;  but  he 
made  her  feel  the  more  that  that  ignorance  was  a shameful 
thing  not  to  be  spoken  of.  Speculations  upon  him  were 
irresistible.  She  was  continually  forgetting  the  nature 
of  his  situation,  and  he  grew  gradually  to  typify  in  her 
mind  the  Grenoble  of  the  past.  She  knew  his  principles 
as  well  as  though  he  had  spoken  them  — which  he  never 
did.  For  him,  the  world  had  become  awry  ; he  ab- 
horred divorce,  and  that  this  modern  abomination  had 
touched  the  house  of  Chiltern  was  a calamity  that  had 
shaken  the  very  foundations  of  his  soul.  In  spite  of  this, 
he  had  remained.  Why  ? Perhaps  from  habit,  perhaps 
from  love  of  the  family  and  Hugh,  — perhaps  to  see  ! 
And  having  stayed,  fascination  had  laid  hold  of  him,  — of 
that  she  was  sure,  — and  his  affections  had  incomprehen- 
sibly become  involved.  He  was  as  one  assisting  at  a high 
tragedy  not  unworthy  of  him,  the  outcome  of  which  he 
never  for  an  instant  doubted.  And  he  gave  Honora  the 
impression  that  he  alone,  inscrutable,  could  have  pulled 
aside  the  curtain  and  revealed  the  end. 


CHAPTER  XIII 


OF  THE  WORLD  BEYOND  THE  GATES 

Honora  paused  in  her  toilet,  and  contemplated  for  a 
moment  the  white  skirt  that  her  maid  presented. 

44  I think  I’ll  wear  the  blue  pongee  to-day,  Mathilde,” 
she  said. 

The  decision  for  the  blue  pongee  was  the  culmination  of 
a struggle  begun  with  the  opening  of  her  eyes  that  morn- 
ing. It  was  Sunday,  and  the  time  was  at  hand  when 
she  must  face  the  world.  Might  it  not  be  dela}red  a 
little  while  — a week  longer?  For  the  remembrance  of 
the  staring  eyes  which  had  greeted  her  on  her  arrival  at 
the  station  at  Grenoble  troubled  her.  It  seemed  to  her  a 
cruel  thing  that  the  house  of  God  should  hold  such  terrors 
for  her : to-day  she  had  a longing  for  it  that  she  had  never 
felt  in  her  life  before. 

Chiltern  was  walking  in  the  garden,  waiting  for  her  to 
breakfast  with  him,  and  her  pose  must  have  had  in  it  an 
element  of  the  self-conscious  when  she  appeared,  smilingly, 
at  the  door. 

44  Why,  you’re  all  dressed  up,”  he  said. 

“ It’s  Sunday,  Hugh.” 

44  So  it  is,”  he  agreed,  with  what  may  have  been  a studied 
lightness  — she  could  not  tell. 

44  I’m  going  to  church,”  she  said  bravely. 

44 1 can’t  say  much  for  old  Stopford,”  declared  her  hus- 
band. 44  His  sermons  used  to  arouse  all  the  original  sin  in 
me,  when  I had  to  listen  to  them.” 

She  poured  out  his  coffee. 

44 1 suppose  one  has  to  take  one’s  clergyman  as  one  does 
the  weather,”  she  said.  44  We  go  to  church  for  something 
else  besides  the  sermon  — don’t  we  ? ” 

44 1 suppose  so,  if  we  go  at  all,”  he  replied.  44  Old  Stop- 
ford  imposes  a pretty  heavy  penalty.” 

' 441 


442 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


“ Too  heavy  for  you  ? ” she  asked,  and  smiled  at  him  as 
she  handed  him  the  cup. 

“ Too  heavy  for  me,”  he  said,  returning  her  smile.  “To 
tell  you  the  truth,  Honora,  I had  an  overdose  of  church 
in  my  youth,  here  and  at  school,  and  I’ve  been  trying  to 
even  up  ever  since.” 

“ You’d  like  me  to  go,  wouldn’t  you,  Hugh  ? ” she  ven- 
tured, after  a silence. 

“ Indeed  I should,”  he  answered,  and  again  she  wondered 
to  what  extent  his  cordiality  was  studied,  or  whether  it 
were  studied  at  all.  “ I’m  ver}^  fond  of  that  church,  in 
spite  of  the  fact  that  — that  I may  be  said  to  dissemble 
my  fondness.”  She  laughed  with  him,  and  he  became 
serious.  “ I still  contribute  the  family’s  share  toward  its 
support.  My  father  was  very  proud  of  it,  but  it  is  really 
my  mother’s  church.  It  was  due  to  her  that  it  was 
built.” 

Thus  was  the  comedy  played  — and  Honora  by  no 
means  sure  that  it  was  a comedy.  Even  her  alert  instinct 
had  not  been  able  to  detect  the  acting,  and  the  interven- 
ing hours  were  spent  in  speculating  whether  her  fears  had 
not  been  overdone.  Nevertheless,  under  the  eyes  of  Star- 
ling, at  twenty  minutes  to  eleven  she  stepped  into  the 
victoria  with  an  outward  courage,  and  drove  down  the 
shady  avenue  towards  the  gates.  Sweet-toned  bells  were 
ringing  as  she  reached  the  residence  portion  of  the  town, 
and  subdued  pedestrians  in  groups  and  couples  made  their 
way  along  the  sidewalks.  They  stared  at  her;  and  she  in 
turn,  with  heightened  colour,  stared  at  her  coachman’s 
back.  After  all,  this  first  Sunday  would  be  the  most  dif- 
ficult. 

The  carriage  turned  into  a street  arched  by  old  elms, 
and  flanked  by  the  houses  of  the  most  prosperous  towns- 
people. Some  of  these  were  of  the  old-fashioned,  classic 
type,  and  others  new  examples  of  a national  architecture 
seeking  to  find  itself,  — white  and  yellow  colonial,  rough- 
cast modifications  of  the  Shakespearian  period,  and  non- 
descript mixtures  of  cobblestones  and  shingles.  Each  was 
surrounded  by  trim  lawns  and  shrubbery.  The  church 


OF  THE  WORLD  BEYOND  THE  GATES  443 


itself  was  set  back  from  the  street.  It  was  of  bluish 
stone,  and  half  covered  with  Virginia  creeper. 

At  this  point,  had  the  opportunity  for  a secret  retreat 
presented  itself,  Honora  would  have  embraced  it,  for  until 
now  she  had  not  realized  the  full  extent  of  the  ordeal. 
Had  her  arrival  been  heralded  by  sounding  trumpets,  the 
sensation  it  caused  could  not  have  been  greater.  In  her 
Eden,  the  world  had  been  forgotten ; the  hum  of  gossip 
beyond  the  gates  had  not  reached  her.  But  now,  as  the 
horses  approached  the  curb,  their  restive  feet  clattering 
on  the  hard  pavement,  in  the  darkened  interior  of  the 
church  she  saw  faces  turned,  and  entering  worshippers 
pausing  in  the  doorway.  Something  of  what  the  event 
meant  for  Grenoble  dawned  upon  her : something,  not 
all ; but  all  that  she  could  bear. 

If  it  be  true  that  there  is  no  courage  equal  to  that  which 
a great  love  begets  in  a woman,  Honora’s  at  that  moment 
was  sublime.  Her  cheeks  tingled,  and  her  knees  weakened 
under  her  as  she  ran  the  gantlet  to  the  church  door, 
where  she  was  met  by  a gentleman  on  whose  face  she  read 
astonishment  unalloyed  : amazement,  perhaps,  is  not  too 
strong  a word  for  the  sensation  it  conveyed  to  her,  and  it 
occurred  to  her  afterwards  that  there  was  an  element  in 
it  of  outrage.  It  was  a countenance  peculiarly  adapted 
to  such  an  expression  — yellow,  smooth-shaven,  heavy - 
jowled,  with  one  drooping  eye  ; and  she  needed  not  to  be 
told  that  she  had  encountered,  at  the  outset,  the  very  pil- 
lar of  pillars.  The  frock  coat,  the  heavy  watch  chain,  the 
square-toed  boots,  all  combined  to  make  a Presence. 

An  instinctive  sense  of  drama  amongst  the  onlookers 
seemed  to  create  a hush,  as  though  these  had  been  the  un- 
willing witnesses  to  an  approaching  collision  and  were 
awaiting  the  crash.  The  gentleman  stood  planted  in  the 
inner  doorway,  his  drooping  eye  fixed  on  hers. 

“ I am  Mrs.  Chiltern,”  she  faltered. 

He  hesitated  the  fraction  of  an  instant,  but  he  somehow 
managed  to  make  it  plain  that  the  information  was  super- 
fluous. He  turned  without  a word  and  marched  majesti- 
cally up  the  aisle  before  her  to  the  fourth  pew  from  the 


444 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


front  on  the  right.  There  he  faced  about  and  laid  a pro- 
testing hand  on  the  carved  walnut,  as  though  absolving 
himself  in  the  sight  of  his  God  and  his  fellow-citizens. 
Honora  fell  on  her  knees. 

She  strove  to  calm  herself  by  prayer : but  the  glances 
of  a congregation  focussed  between  her  shoulder-blades 
seemed  to  burn  her  back,  and  the  thought  of  the  concen- 
tration of  so  many  minds  upon  her  distracted  her  own. 
She  could  think  of  no  definite  prayer.  Was  this  God’s 
tabernacle  ? or  the  market-place,  and  she  at  the  tail  of  a 
cart  ? And  was  she  not  Hugh  Chiltern’s  wife,  entitled  to 
his  seat  in  the  place  of  worship  of  his  fathers  ? She  rose 
from  her  knees,  and  her  eyes  fell  on  the  softly  glowing 
colours  of  a stained-glass  window  : In  memoriam — Alicia 
Reyburn  Chiltern.  Hugh’s  mother,  the  lady  in  whose 
seat  she  sat. 

The  organist,  a sprightly  young  man,  came  in  and  be- 
gan turning  over  his  music,  and  the  choir  took  their  places, 
in  the  old-fashioned  manner.  Then  came  the  clergyman. 
His  beard  was  white,  his  face  long  and  narrow  and  shriv- 
elled, his  forehead  protruding,  his  eyes  of  the  cold  blue 
of  a winter’s  sky.  The  service  began,  and  Honora  re- 
peated the  familiar  prayers  which  she  had  learned  by  heart 
in  childhood  — until  her  attention  was  arrested  by  the 
words  she  spoke:  “We  have  offended  against  Thy  holy 
laws.”  Had  she  ? Would  not  God  bless  her  marriage? 
It  was  not  until  then  that  she  began  to  pray  with  an  in- 
tensity that  blotted  out  the  world  that  He  would  not 
punish  her  if  she  had  done  wrong  in  His  sight.  Surely,  if 
she  lived  henceforth  in  fear  of  Him,  He  would  let  her 
keep  this  priceless  love  which  had  come  to  her  ! And  it 
was  impossible  that  He  should  regard  it  as  an  inordinate 
and  sinful  affection  — since  it  had  filled  her  life  with  light. 
As  the  wife  of  Hugh  Chiltern  she  sought  a blessing. 
Would  God  withhold  it?  He  would  not,  she  was  sure,  if 
they  lived  a sober  and  a righteous  life.  He  would  take 
that  into  account,  for  He  was  just. 

Then  she  grew  calmer,  and  it  was  not  until  after  the 
doctrinal  sermon  which  Hugh  had  predicted  that  her 


OF  THE  WORLD  BEYOND  THE  GATES  445 


heart  began  to  beat  painfully  once  more,  when  the  gentle- 
man who  had  conducted  her  to  her  seat  passed  her  the 
plate.  He  inspired  her  with  an  instinctive  fear  ; and  she 
tried  to  imagine,  in  contrast,  the  erect  and  soldierly  figure 
of  General  Chiltern  performing  the  same  office.  Would 
he  have  looked  on  her  more  kindly  ? 

When  the  benediction  was  pronounced,  she  made  her 
way  out  of  the  church  with  downcast  eyes.  The  people 
parted  at  the  door  to  let  her  pass,  and  she  quickened  her 
step,  gained  the  carriage  at  last,  and  drove  away  — seem- 
ingly leaving  at  her  back  a buzz  of  comment.  Would  she 
ever  have  the  courage  to  do  it  again  ? 

The  old  butler,  as  he  flung  open  the  doors  at  her  ap- 
proach, seemed  to  be  scrutinizing  her. 

“Where’s  Mr.  Chiltern,  Starling ?”  she  asked. 

“ He’s  gone  for  a ride,  madame.” 

Hugh  had  gone  for  a ride! 

She  did  not  see  him  until  lunch  was  announced,  when 
he  came  to  the  table  in  his  riding  clothes.  It  may  have 
been  that  he  began  to  talk  a little  eagerly  about  the  ex- 
cursion he  had  made  to  an  outlying  farm  and  the  conver- 
sation he  had  had  with  the  farmer  who  leased  it. 

“His  lease  is  out  in  April,”  said  Chiltern,  “and  when 
I told  him  I thought  I’d  turn  the  land  into  the  rest  of  the 
estate  he  tried  to  bribe  me  into  a renewal.” 

“ Bribe  you  ? ” 

Chiltern  laughed. 

“ Only  in  joke,  of  course.  The  man's  a character,  and 
he’s  something  of  a politician  in  these  parts.  He  inti- 
mated that  there  would  be  a vacancy  in  this  congressional 
district  next  year,  that  Grierson  was  going  to  resign,  arid 
that  a man  with  a long  purse  who  belonged  to  the  soil 
might  have  a chance.  I suppose  he  thinks  I would  buy 
it.” 

“ And  — would  you  like  to  go  to  Congress,  Hugh?  ” 

“ Well,”  he  said,  smiling,  “a  man  never  can  tell  when 
he  may  have  to  eat  his  words.  I don’t  say  I shouldn’t  — 
in  the  distant  future.  It  would  have  pleased  the  General. 
But  if  I go,”  he  added  with  characteristic  vigour,  “ it  will 


446 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


be  in  spite  of  the  politicians,  not  because  of  them.  If  I 
go  I shan’t  go  bound,  and  I’ll  tight  for  it.  I should  enjoy 
that.” 

And  she  was  able  to  accord  him  the  smile  of  encour- 
agement he  expected. 

“I  am  sure  you  would,”  she  replied.  “I  think  you 
might  have  waited  until  this  afternoon  and  taken  me,”  she 
reproached  him.  “ You  know  how  I enjoy  going  with  you 
to  those  places.” 

It  was  not  until  later  in  the  meal  that  he  anticipated, 
in  an  admirably  accidental  manner,  the  casual  remark  she 
had  intended  to  make  about  church, 

“Your  predictions  were  fulfilled,”  she  answered,-  “the 
sermon  wasn’t  thrilling.” 

He  glanced  at  her.  And  instead  of  avoiding  his  eyes, 
she  smiled  into  them. 

“ Did  you  see  the  First  Citizen  of  Grenoble  ? ” he  in- 
quired. 

“I  am  sure  of  it,”  she  laughed,  “if  he’s  yellow,  with 
a drooping  eye  and  a presence;  he  was  kind  enough  to  con- 
duct me  to  the  pew.” 

“Yes,”  he  exclaimed,  “that’s  Israel  Simpson  — you 
couldn’t  miss  him.  How  I used  to  hate  him  when  I was 
a boy  ! I haven't  quite  got  over  it  yet.  I used  to  outdo 
myself  to  make  things  uncomfortable  for  him  when  he 
came  up  here  — I think  it  was  because  he  always  seemed 
to  be  truckling.  He  was  ridiculously  servile  and  polite  in 
those  days.  He’s  changed  since,”  added  Hugh,  dryly. 
“ He  must  quite  have  forgotten  by  this  time  that  the 
General  made  him.” 

“ Is  — is  he  so  much  ? ” said  Honora. 

Her  husband  laughed. 

“ Is  it  possible  that  you  have  seen  him  and  still  ask 
that  ? ” said  he.  “ He  is  Grenoble.  Once  the  Chilterns 
were.  He  is  the  head  of  the  honoured  firm  of  Israel 
Simpson  and  Sons,  the  president  of  the  Grenoble  National 
Bank,  the  senior  warden  of  the  church,  a director  in  the 
railway.  Twice  a year,  in  the  columns  of  the  New  York 
newspapers  dedicated  to  the  prominent  arrivals  at  the 


OF  THE  WORLD  BEYOND  THE  GATES  447 


hotels,  you  may  read  the  name  of  Israel  Simpson  of 
Grenoble.  Three  times  has  he  been  abroad,  respectably 
accompanied  by  Maria,  who  invariably  returns  to  read  a 
paper  on  the  cathedrals  and  art  before  the  Woman’s  Club.” 

“ Maria  is  his  wife,  I suppose.” 

“Yes.  Didn’t  you  run  across  Maria?  She’s  quite  as 
pronounced,  in  her  way,  as  Israel.  A very  tower  of 
virtue.” 

“ I didn’t  meet  anybody,  Hugh,”  said  Honora.  “ I’ll  — 
I’ll  look  for  her  next  Sunday.  I hurried  out.  It  was  a 
little  embarrassing  the  first  time,”  she  added,  “ your  family 
being  so  prominent  in  Grenoble.” 

Upon  this  framework,  the  prominence  of  his  family,  she 
built  up  during  the  coming  week  a new  structure  of  hope. 
It  was  strange  she  had  never  thought  before  of  this  quite 
obvious  explanation  for  the  curiosity  of  Grenoble.  Per- 
haps— perhaps  it  was  not  prejudice,  after  all  I or  not  all 
of  it.  The  wife  of  the  Chiltern  heir  would  naturally  in- 
spire a considerable  interest  in  any  event,  and  Mrs.  Hugh 
Chiltern  in  particular.  And  these  people  would  shortly 
understand,  if  they  did  not  now  understand,  that  Hugh 
had  come  back  voluntarily  and  from  a sense  of  duty  to 
assume  the  burdens  and  responsibilities  that  so  many  of 
his  generation  and  class  had  shirked.  This  would  tell  in 
their  favour,  surely.  At  this  point  in  her  meditations  she 
consulted  the  mirror,  to  behold  a modest,  slim-waisted 
young  woman  becomingly  arrayed  in  white  linen,  whose 
cheeks  were  aglow  with  health,  whose  eyes  seemingly  re- 
flected the  fire  of  a distant  high  vision.  Not  a Poppsea, 
certainly,  nor  a Delila.  No,  it  was  unbelievable  that  this, 
the  very  field  itself  of  their  future  labours,  should  be 
denied  them.  Her  heart,  at  the  mere  conjecture,  turned 
to  stone. 

During  the  cruise  of  the  Adhemar  she  had  often  watched, 
in  the  gathering  darkness,  those  revolving  lights  on  head- 
land or  shoal  that  spread  now  a bright  band  across  the  sea, 
and  again  left  the  waters  desolate  in  the  night.  Thus, 
ceaselessly  revolving  from  white  hope  to  darker  doubt, 
were  her  thoughts,  until  sometimes  she  feared  to  be  alone 


448 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


with  them,  and  surprised  him  by  her  presence  in  his  busiest 
moments.  For  he  was  going  ahead  on  the  path  they  had 
marked  out  with  a faith  in  which  she  could  perceive  no 
flaw.  If  faint  and  shadowy  forms  had  already  come  be- 
tween them,  he  gave  no  evidence  of  having  as  yet  discerned 
these.  There  was  the  absence  of  news  from  his  family, 
for  instance,  — the  Graingers,  the  Stranges,  the  Shorters, 
and  the  Pendletons,  whom  she  had  never  seen;  he  had  never 
spoken  to  her  of  this,  and  he  seemed  to  hold  it  as  of  no 
account.  Her  instinct  whispered  that  it  had  left  its  mark, 
a hidden  mark.  And  while  she  knew  that  consideration 
for  her  prompted  him  to  hold  his  peace,  she  told  herself 
that  she  would  have  been  happier  had  he  spoken  of  it. 

Always  she  was  brought  back  to  Grenoble  when  she 
saw  him  thus,  manlike,  with  his  gaze  steadily  fixed  on  the 
task.  If  New  York  itself  withheld  recognition,  could 
Grenoble — provincial  and  conservative  Grenoble,  pre- 
serving still  the  ideas  of  the  last  century  for  which  his 
family  had  so  unflinchingly  stood  — be  expected  to  accord 
it?  New  York!  New  York  was  many,  many  things,  she 
knew.  The  great  house  could  have  been  filled  from  week- 
end to  week-end  from  New  York;  but  not  with  Graingers 
and  Pendletons  and  Stranges;  not  with  those  around  the 
walls  of  whose  fortresses  the  currents  of  modernity  still 
swept  impotently;  not  with  those  who,  while  not  con- 
temning pleasure,  still  acknowledged  duty;  not  with 
those  whose  assured  future  was  that  for  which  she  might 
have  sold  her  soul  itself.  Social  free  lances,  undoubtedly, 
and  unattached  men;  those  who  lived  in  the  world  of 
fashion  but  were  not  squeamish  — Mrs.  Kame,  for  ex- 
ample; and  ladies  like  Mrs.  Eustace  Rindge,  who  had 
tried  a second  throw  for  happiness,  — such  votaries  of  ex- 
citement would  undoubtedly  have  been  more  than  glad  to 
avail  themselves  of  the  secluded  hospitality  of  Grenoble 
for  that  which  they  would  have  been  pleased  to  designate 
as  “a  lively  time.”  Honora  shuddered  at  the  thought. 
And,  as  though  the  shudder  had  been  prophetic,  one 
morning  the  mail  contained  a letter  from  Mrs.  Kame  her- 
self. 


OF  THE  WORLD  BEYOND  THE  GATES  449 


Mercifully  Hugh  had  not  noticed  it.  Honora  did  not 
recognize  the  handwriting,  but  she  slipped  the  envelope 
into  her  lap,  fearful  of  what  it  might  contain,  and,  when 
she  gained  the  privacy  of  her  rooms,  read  it  with  quicken- 
ing breath.  Mrs.  Kame’s  touch  was  light  and  her  imagi- 
nation sympathetic  ; she  was  the  most  adaptable  of  the 
feminine  portion  of  her  nation,  and  since  the  demise  of 
her  husband  she  had  lived,  abroad  and  at  home,  among 
men  and  women  of  a world  that  does  not  dot  its  i’s  or 
cross  its  t’s.  Nevertheless,  the  letter  filled  Honora  with 
a deep  apprehension  and  a deeper  resentment.  Plainly 
and  clearly  stamped  between  its  delicately  worded  lines 
was  the  claim  of  a comradeship  born  of  Honora’s  recent 
act.  She  tore  the  paper  into  strips  and  threw  it  into  the 
flames  and  opened  the  window  to  the  cool  air  of  the  au- 
tumn morning.  She  had  a feeling  of  contamination  that 
was  intolerable. 

Mrs.  Kame  had  proposed  herself  — again  the  word 
“delicately”  must  be  used — for  one  of  Honora’s  first 
house-parties.  Only  an  acute  perception  could  have  read 
in  the  lady’s  praise  of  Hugh  a masterly  avoidance  of  that 
part  of  his  career  already  registered  on  the  social  slate. 
Mrs.  Kame  had  thought  about  them  and  their  wonderful 
happiness  in  these  autumn  days  at  Grenoble;  to  intrude 
on  that  happiness  yet  awhile  would  be  a sacrilege.  Later, 
perhaps,  they  would  relent  and  see  something  of  their 
friends,  and  throw  open  again  the  gates  of  a beautiful 
place  long  closed  to  the  world.  And  — without  the  air 
of  having  picked  the  single  instance,  but  of  having  chosen 
from  many  — Mrs.  Kame  added  that  she  had  only  lately 
seen  Elsie  Shorter,  whose  admiration  for  Honora  was 
greater  than  ever.  A sentiment,  Honora  reflected  a little 
bitterly,  that  Mrs.  Shorter  herself  had  not  taken  the  pains 
to  convey.  Consistency  was  not  Elsie’s  jewel. 

It  must  perhaps  be  added  for  the  sake  of  enlightenment 
that  since  going  to  Newport  Honora’s  view  of  the  writer 
of  this  letter  had  changed.  In  other  words,  enlarging 
ideals  had  dwarfed  her  somewhat  ; it  was  strictly  true 
that  the  lady  was  a boon  companion  of  everybody.  Her 
2g 


450 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


Catholicism  had  two  limitations  only  : that  she  must  be 
amused,  and  that  she  must  not  — in  what  she  deemed  the 
vulgar  sen^e — be  shocked. 

Honora  made  several  attempts  at  an  answer  before 
she  succeeded  in  saying,  simply,  that  Hugh  was  too 
absorbed  in  his  work  of  reconstruction  of  the  estate  for 
them  to  have  house-parties  this  autumn.  And  even  this 
was  a concession  hard  for  her  pride  to  swallow.  She 
would  have  preferred  not  to  reply  at  all,  and  this  slightest 
of  references  to  his  work  — and  hers  — seemed  to  degrade 
it.  Before  she  folded  the  sheet  she  looked  again  at  that 
word  “ reconstruction”  and  thought  of  eliminating  it.  It 
was  too  obviously  allied  to  “ redemption  and  she  felt  that 
Mrs.  Kame  could  not  understand  redemption,  and  would 
ridicule  it.  Honora  went  downstairs  and  dropped  her 
reply  guiltily  into  the  mail-bag.  It  was  for  Hugh’s  sake 
she  was  sending  it,  and  from  his  eyes  she  was  hiding  it. 

And,  while  we  are  dealing  with  letters,  one,  or  part  of 
one,  from  Honora’s  aunt,  may  perhaps  be  inserted  here. 
It  was  an  answer  to  one  that  Honora  had  written  a few 
days  after  her  installation  at  Grenoble,  the  contents  of 
which  need  not  be  gone  into  : we,  who  know  her,  would 
neither  laugh  nor  weep  at  reading  it,  and  its  purport  may 
be  more  or  less  accurately  surmised  from  her  aunt’s  reply. 

“ As  I wrote  you  at  the  time,  my  dear,”  — so  it  ran  — 
“the  shock  which  your  sudden  marriage  with  Mr.  Cliil- 
tern  caused  us  was  great  — so  great  that  I cannot  express 
it  in  words.  I realize  that  I am  growing  old,  and  perhaps 
the  world  is  changing  faster  than  I imagine.  And  I 
wrote  you,  too,  that  I would  not  be  true  to  myself  if  I 
told  you  that  what  you  have  done  was  right  in  my  eyes. 
I have  asked  myself  whether  my  horror  of  divorce  and  re- 
marriage may  not  in  some  degree  be  due  to  the  happi- 
ness of  my  life  with  your  uncle.  I am,  undoubtedly,  an 
exceptionally  fortunate  woman;  and  as  I look  backwards 
I see  that  the  struggles  and  trials  which  we  have  shared 
together  were  really  blessings. 

“ Nevertheless,  dear  Honora,  you  are,  as  your  uncle 
wrote  you,  our  child,  and  nothing  can  alter  that  fact  in 


OF  THE  WORLD  BEYOND  THE  GATES  451 


our  hearts.  We  can  only  pray  with  all  our  strength  that 
you  may  find  happiness  and  peace  in  your  new  life.  I try 
to  imagine,  as  I think  of  you  and  what  has  happened  to 
you  in  the  few  years  since  you  have  left  us  — how  long  they 
seem  ! — I try  to  imagine  some  of  the  temptations  that 
have  assailed  you  in  that  world  of  which  I know  nothing. 
If  I cannot,  it  is  because  God  made  us  different.  I know 
what  you  have  suffered,  and  my  heart  aches  for  you. 

“ You  say  that  experience  has  taught  you  much  that 
you  could  not  have  learned  in  any  other  way.  I do 
not  doubt  it.  You  tell  me  that  your  new  life,  just  be- 
gun, will  be  a dutiful  one.  Let  me  repeat  that  it  is  my 
anxious  prayer  that  you  have  not  builded  upon  sand,  that 
regrets  may  not  come.  I cannot  say  more.  I cannot  dis- 
semble. Perhaps  I have  already  said  too  much. 

“ Your  loving 

Aunt  Mary.” 

An  autumn  wind  was  blowing,  and  Honora  gazed  out  of 
the  window  at  the  steel-blue,  ruffled  waters  of  the  lake. 
Unconsciously  she  repeated  the  words  to  herself  : - — 

“ Builded  upon  sand  ! ” 


CHAPTER  XIV 


CONTAINING  PHILOSOPHY  FROM  MR.  GRAINGER 

Swiftly  came  the  autumn  days,  and  swiftly  went.  A 
bewildering,  ever  changing,  and  glorious  panorama  pre- 
sented itself,  green  hillsides  struck  first  with  flaming 
crimsons  and  yellows,  and  later  mellowing  into  a won- 
drous blending  of  gentler,  tenderer  hues;  lavender,  and 
wine,  and  the  faintest  of  rose  colours  where  the  bare 
beeches  massed.  Thus  the  slopes  were  spread  as  with 
priceless  carpets  for  a festival.  Sometimes  Honora,  watch- 
ing, beheld  from  her  window  the  russet  dawn  on  the 
eastern  ridge,  and  the  white  mists  crouching  in  strange, 
ghostly  shapes  above  the  lake  and  the  rushing  river:  and 
she  saw  these  same  mists  gather  again,  shivering,  at  night- 
fall. In  the  afternoon  they  threaded  valleys,  silent  save 
for  the  talk  between  them  and  the  stirring  of  the  leaves 
under  their  horses’  feet. 

So  the  Indian  summer  passed  — that  breathless  season 
when  even  happiness  has  its  premonitions  and  its 
pangs.  The  umber  fields,  all  ploughed  and  harrowed, 
lay  patiently  awaiting  the  coming  again  of  the  quickening 
spring.  Then  fell  the  rain,  the  first,  cold  winter  rain  that 
shrouded  the  valley  and  beat  down  upon  the  defenceless, 
dismantled  garden  and  made  pools  in  the  hollows  of  the 
stone  seat:  that  flung  itself  against  Honora’s  window  as 
though  begrudging  her  the  warmth  and  comfort  within. 
Sometimes  she  listened  to  it  in  the  night. 

She  was  watching.  How  intent  was  that  vigil,  how 
alert  and  sharpened  her  senses,  a woman  who  has  watched 
alone  may  answer.  Now,  she  felt,  was  the  crisis  at  hand: 
the  moment  when  her  future,  and  his,  was  to  hang  in  the 
balance.  The  work  on  the  farms,  which  had  hitherto  left 
Chiltern  but  little  time  for  thought,  had  relaxed.  In 

452 


PHILOSOPHY  FROM  MR.  GRAINGER  453 


these  wet  days  had  he  began  to  brood  a little  ? Did  he 
show  signs  of  a reversion  to  that  other  personality,  the 
Chiltern  she  had  not  known,  yet  glimpses  of  whom  she 
had  had  ? She  recalled  the  third  time  she  had  seen  him, 
the  morning  at  the  Lilacs  in  Newport,  that  had  left  upon 
her  the  curious  sense  of  having  looked  on  a superimposed 
portrait.  That  Chiltern  which  she  called  her  Viking, 
and  which,  with  a woman’s  perversity,  she  had  perhaps 
loved  most  of  all,  was  but  one  expression  of  the  other  man 
of  days  gone  by.  The  life  of  that  man  was  a closed  book 
she  had  never  wished  to  open.  Was  he  dead,  or  sleeping  ? 
And  if  sleeping,  .would  he  awake  ? How  softly  she  tread! 

And  in  these  days,  with  what  exquisite,  yet  tremulous 
skill  and  courage  did  she  bring  up  the  subject  of  that 
other  labour  they  were  to  undertake  together  — the  life 
and  letters  of  his  father.  In  the  early  dusk,  when  they 
had  returned  from  their  long  rides,  she  contrived  to 
draw  Chiltern  into  his  study.  The  cheerfulness,  the  hope- 
fulness, the  delight  with  which  she  approached  the  task, 
the  increasing  enthusiasm  she  displayed  for  the  character 
of  the  General  as  she  read  and  sorted  the  letters  and  docu- 
ments, and  the  traits  of  his  she  lovingly  traced  in  Hugh, 
were  not  without  their  effect.  It  was  thus  she  fanned, 
ceaselessly  and  with  a smile,  and  with  an  art  the  rarest 
women  possess,  the  drooping  flame.  And  the  flame  re- 
sponded. 

How  feverishly  she  worked,  unknown  to  him,  he  never 
guessed;  so  carefully  and  unobtrusively  planted  her  sug- 
gestions that  they  were  born  again  in  glory  as  his  inspira- 
tion. The  mist  had  lifted  a little,  and  she  beheld  the 
next  stage  beyond.  To  reach  that  stage  was  to  keep  him 
intent  on  this  work  — and  after  that,  to  publish ! Ah,  if  he 
would  only  have  patience,  or  if  she  could  keep  him  dis- 
tracted through  this  winter  and  their  night,  she  might  save 
him.  Love  such  as  hers  can  even  summon  genius  to  its 
aid,  and  she  took  fire  herself  at  the  thought  of  a book 
worthy  of  that  love,  of  a book  — though  signed  by  him  — 
that  would  redeem  them,  and  bring  a scoffing  world  to  its 
knees  in  praise.  She  spent  hours  in  the  big  library  pre- 


454 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


paring  for  Chiltern’s  coming,  with  volumes  in  her  lap  and 
a note-book  by  her  side. 

One  night,  as  they  sat  by  the  blazing  logs 
in  his  study,  which  had  been  the  General's, 

Chiltern  arose  impulsively,  opened  the  big 
safe  in  the  corner,  and  took  out  a leather- 
bound  book  and  laid  it  on  her  lap. 

Honora  stared  at  it:  it  was  marked 
“ Highlawns,  Visitors’  Book.” 

“ It’s  curious  I never  thought  of  it 
before,”  he  said,  “but  my  father 
had  a habit  of  jotting  down  notes 
in  it  on  important  occasions. 

It  may  be  of  some  use  to  us, 

Honora.” 

She  opened  it  at  random  and 
read:  “July  5,  1893,  Picnic  at 
Psalter’s  Falls.  Temperature 
71  at  9 a.m.  Bar.  30.  Weather 
clear.  Charles  left  for  Wash- 
ington, summons  from  _ 

President,  in  the  midst 
of  it.  Agatha  and  Vic- 
tor again  look  at  the 
Farrar  property. 

Hugh  has  a ducking.  /U, 

P.S.  At  dinner  to- 
night  Bessie 
announces 
her  engage-  J 
mentto  Cecil  / 

Grainger.  s 
Present: 

Sarah  and  \ .....  • • r 

George Gren-  .. . x \ ■ 

fell,  Agatha 

and  Victor  Strange,  Gerald  Shorter,  Lord  Kylie — ” 

Honora  looked  up.  Hugh  was  at  her  shoulder,  with 
his  eyes  on  the  page. 


; 


PHILOSOPHY  FROM  MR.  GRAINGER  455 


“Psalter’s  Falls!  ” he  exclaimed.  “How  well  I remem- 
ber that  day!  I was  just  home  from  my  junior  year  at 
Harvard.” 

“ Who  was  ‘ Charles  ’ ? ” inquired  Honora. 

“ Senator  Pendleton  — Bessie’s  father.  J ust  after  I 

jumped  into  the  mill-pond  the  telegram  came  for  him  to  go 
to  Washington,  and  I drove  him  home  in  my  wet  clothes. 
The  old  man  had  a terrible  tongue,  a whip-lash  kind  of 
humour,  and  he  scored  me  for  being  a fool.  But  he 
rather  liked  me,  on  the  whole.  He  told  me  if  I’d  only 
straighten  out  I could  be  anything,  in  reason.” 

“ What  made  you  jump  in  the  mill-pond  ? ” Honora 
asked,  laughing. 

“ Bessie  Grainger.  She  had  a devil  in  her,  too,  in  those 
days,  but  she  always  kept  her  head,  and  I didn’t.”  He 
smiled.  “ I’m  willing  to  admit  that  I was  madly  in  love 
with  her,  and  she  treated  me  outrageously.  We  were 
standing  on  the  bridge  — I remember  it  as  though  it  were 
yesterday  — and  the  water  was  about  eight  feet  deep,  with 
a clear  sand  bottom.  She  took  off  a gold  bracelet  and  bet 
me  I wouldn’t  get  it  if  she  threw  it  in.  That  night,  right 
in  the  middle  of  dinner,  when  there  was  a pause  in  the 
conversation,  she  told  us  she  was  engaged  to  Cecil  Grainger. 
It  turned  out,  by  the  way,  to  have  been  his  bracelet  I 
rescued.  I could  have  wrung  his  neck,  and  I didn’t  speak 
to  her  for  a month.” 

Honora  repressed  an  impulse  to  comment  on  this  inci- 
dent. With  his  arm  over  her  shoulder,  he  turned  the 
pages  idly,  and  the  long  lists  of  guests  which  bore  witness 
to  the  former  life  and  importance  of  Highlawns  passed  be- 
fore her  eyes.  Distinguished  foreigners,  peers  of  England, 
churchmen,  and  men  renowned  in  literature : famous 

American  statesmen,  scientists,  and  names  that  represented 
more  than  one  generation  of  wealth  and  achievement  — all 
were  here.  There  were  his  school  and  college  friends,  five 
and  six  at  a time,  and  besides  them  those  of  young  girls 
who  were  now  women,  some  of  whom  Honora  had  met  and 
known  in  New  York  or  Newport. 

Presently  he  closed  the  book  abruptly  and  returned  it 


456 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


to  the  safe.  To  her  sharpened  senses,  the  very  act  itself 
was  significant.  There  were  other  and  blank  pages  in  it 
for  future  years  ; and  under  different  circumstances  he 
might  have  laid  it  in  its  time-honoured  place,  on  the  great 
table  in  the  library.  . . . 

It  was  not  until  some  weeks  later  that  Honora  was 
seated  one  afternoon  in  the  study  waiting  for  him  to  come 
in,  and  sorting  over  some  of  the  letters  that  they  had  not 
yet  examined,  when  she  came  across  a new  lot  thrust  care- 
lessly at  the  bottom  of  the  older  pile.  She  undid  the 
elastic.  Tucked  away  in  one  of  the  envelopes  she  was 
surprised  to  find  a letter  of  recent  date  — October.  She 
glanced  at  it,  read  involuntarily  the  first  lines,  and  then, 
with  a little  cry,  turned  it  over.  It  was  from  Cecil 
Grainger.  She  put  it  back  into  the  envelope  whence  it 
came,  and  sat  still. 

After  a while,  she  could  not  tell  how  long,  she  heard 
Hugh  stamping  the  snow  from  his  feet  in  the  little  entry 
beside  the  study.  And  in  a few  moments  he  entered, 
rubbing  his  hands  and  holding  them  out  to  the  blaze. 

“ Hello,  Honora,”  he  said ; “ are  you  still  at  it  ? What’s 
the  matter  — a hitch  ? ” 

She  reached  mechanically  into  the  envelope,  took  out 
the  letter,  and  handed  it  to  him. 

“ I found  it  just  now,  Hugh.  I didn’t  read  much  of  it 
— I didn’t  mean  to  read  any.  It’s  from  Mr.  Grainger, 
and  you  must  have  overlooked  it.” 

He  took  it. 

“From  Cecil?”  he  said,  in  an  odd  voice.  “I  wasn’t 
aware  that  he  had  sent  me  anything  — recently.” 

As  he  read,  she  felt  the  anger  rise  within  him,  she  saw 
it  in  his  eyes  fixed  upon  the  sheet,  and  the  sense  of  fear, 
of  irreparable  loss,  that  had  come  over  her  as  she  had  sat 
alone  awaiting  him,  deepened.  And  yet,  long  expected 
verdicts  are  sometimes  received  in  a spirit  of  recklessness. 
He  finished  the  letter,  and  flung  it  in  her  lap. 

“ Read  it,”  he  said. 

“ Oh,  Hugh  ! ” she  protested  tremulously.  “ Perhaps  — 
perhaps  I’d  better  not.”  He  laughed,  and  that  frightened 


PHILOSOPHY  FROM  MR.  GRAINGER  457 


lier  the  more.  It  was  the  laugh,  she  was  sure,  of  the  other 
man  she  had  not  known. 

“ I’ve  always  suspected  that  Cecil  was  a fool  — now 
I’m  sure  of  it.  Read  it  ! ” he  repeated,  in  a note  of  com- 
mand that  went  oddly  with  his  next  sentence  ; “You  will 
find  that  it  is  only  ridiculous.” 

This  assurance  of  the  comedy  it  contained,  however,  did 
not  serve  to  fortify  her  misgivings.  It  was  written  from 
a club. 

“ Dear  Hugh  : Herewith  a few  letters  for  the  magnum 
opus  which  I have  extracted  from  Aunt  Agatha,  Judge 
Gaines,  and  others,  and  to  send  you  my  humble  congratu- 
lations. By  George,  my  boy,  you  have  dashed  off  with  a 
prize,  and  no  mistake.  I’ve  never  made  any  secret,  you 
know,  of  my  admiration  for  Honora  — I hope  I may  call 
her  so  now.  And  I just  thought  I’d  tell  you  you  could 
count  on  me  for  a friend  at  court.  Not  that  I’m  any  use 
now,  old  boy.  I’ll  have  to  be  frank  with  you  — I always 
was.  Discreet  silence,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing  : as  much 
as  my  head  is  worth  to  open  my  mouth.  But  I had  an 
idea  it  would  be  an  act  of  friendship  to  let  you  know  how 
things  stand.  Let  time  and  works  speak,  and  Cecil  will 
give  the  thing  a push  at  the  proper  moment.  I understand 
from  one  of  the  intellectual  journals  I read  that  you  have 
gone  in  for  simple  life  and  scientific  farming.  A deuced 
canny  move.  And  for  the  love  of  heaven,  old  man,  keep 
it  up  for  a while,  anyhow.  I know  it’s  difficult,  but  keep 
it  up.  I speak  as  a friend. 

“ They  received  your  letters  all  right,  announcing  your 
marriage.  You  always  enjoyed  a row — I wish  you  could 
have  been  on  hand  to  see  and  hear  this  one.  It  was  no 
place  for  a man  of  peace,  and  I spent  two  nights  at  the 
club.  I’ve  never  made  any  secret,  you  know,  of  the  fact 
that  I think  the  Pendleton  connection  hide-bound.  And 
you  understand  Bessie — there’s  no  good  of  my  explaining 
her.  You’d  have  thought  divorce  a brand-new  invention 
of  the  devil,  instead  of  a comparatively  old  institution. 
And  if  you  don’t  mind  my  saying  so,  my  boy,  you  took 
this  fence  a bit  on  the  run,  the  way  you  do  everything. 


458 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


The  fact  is,  divorce  is  going  out  of  fashion.  Maybe  it’s 
because  the  Pendleton-Grenfell  element  have  always  set 
their  patrician  faces  against  it;  maybe  its  been  a bit  over- 
done. Most  people  who  have  tried  it  have  discovered 
that  the  fire  is  no  better  than  the  frying-pan  — both  hot 
as  soon  as  they  warm  up.  Of  course,  old  boy,  there’s 
nothing  personal  in  this.  Sit  tight,  and  stick  to  the 
simple  life — that’s  your  game  as  I see  it.  No  news  — 
I’ve  never  known  things  to  be  so  quiet.  Jerry  won  over 
two  thousand  night  before  last  — - he  made  it  no  trumps  in 
his  own  hand  four  times  running. 

“ Yours, 

“ Cecil.” 

Honora  returned  this  somewhat  unique  epistle  to  her 
husband,  and  he  crushed  it.  There  was  an  ill-repressed, 
terrifying  savagery  in  the  act,  and  her  heart  was  torn  be- 
tween fear  and  pity  for  this  lone  message  of  good-will. 
Whatever  its  wording,  such  it  was.  A dark  red  flush  had 
mounted  his  forehead  to  the  roots  of  his  short,  curly  hair. 

“Well?”  he  said. 

She  was  fighting  for  her  presence  of  mind.  Flashes  of 
his  temper  she  had  known,  but  she  had  never  seen  the 
cruel,  fiendish  thing  — his  anger.  Not  his  anger,  but  the 
anger  of  the  destroyer  that  she  beheld  waking  now  after 
its  long  sleep,  and  taking  possession  of  him,  and  trans- 
forming him  before  her  very  eyes.  She  had  been  able  to 
cope  with  the  new  man,  but  she  felt  numb  and  powerless 
before  the  resuscitated  demon  of  the  old. 

“ What  do  you  expect  me  to  say,  Hugh  ? ” she  faltered, 
with  a queer  feeling  that  she  was  not  addressing  him. 

“Anything  you  like,”  he  replied.  “ Defend  Cecil.” 

“ Why  should  I defend  him  ? ” she  said  dully. 

“Because  you  have  no  pride.” 

A few  seconds  elapsed  before  the  full  import  and 
brutality  of  this  insult  reached  her  intelligence,  and  she 
cried  out  his  name  in  a voice  shrill  with  anguish.  But  he 
seemed  to  delight  in  the  pain  he  had  caused. 

“You  couldn’t  be  expected,  I suppose,  to  see  that  this 


PHILOSOPHY  FROM  MR.  GRAINGER  459 


letter  is  a d — d impertinence,  filled  with  an  outrageous 
flippancy,  a deliberate  affront,  an  implication  that  our 
marriage  does  not  exist.” 

She  sat  stunned,  knowing  that  the  real  pain  would  come 
later.  That  which  slowly  awoke  in  her  now,  as  he  paced 
the  room,  was  a high  sense  of  danger,  and  a persistent  in- 
ability to  regard  the  man  who  had  insulted  her  as  her 
husband.  He  was  rather  an  enemy  to  them  both,  and  he 
would  overturn,  if  he  could,  the  frail  craft  of  their  happi- 
ness in  the  storm.  She  cried  out  to  Hugh  as  across  the 
waters. 

“No,  — I have  no  pride,  Hugh, — it  is  gone.  I have 
thought  of  you  only.  The  fear  that  I might  separate  you 
from  your  family,  from  your  friends,  and  ruin  your  future 
has  killed  my  pride.  He — Mr.  Grainger — meant  to  be 
kind.  He  is  always  like  that  — it’s  his  way  of  saying 
things.  He  wishes  to  show  that  he  is  friendly  to  you  — 
to  me  — ” 

“ In  spite  of  my  relations,”  cried  Chiltern,  stopping  in 
the  middle  of  the  room.  “ They  cease  to  be  my  relations 
from  this  day.  I disown  them.  I say  it  deliberately. 
So  long  as  I live,  not  one  of  them  shall  come  into  this 
house.  All  my  life  they  have  begged  me  to  settle  down, 
to  come  up  here  and  live  the  life  my  father  did.  Very 
well,  now  I’ve  done  it.  And  I wrote  to  them  and  told 
them  that  I intended  to  live  henceforth  like  a gentleman 
and  a decent  citizen — -more  than  some  of  them  do.  No, 
I wash  my  hands  of  them.  If  they  were  to  crawl  up  here 
from  the  gate  on  their  knees,  I’d  turn  them  out.” 

Although  he  could  not  hear  her,  she  continued  to  plead. 

“ Hugh,  try  to  think  of  how  — how  our  marriage  must 
have  appeared  to  them.  Not  that  I blame  you  for  being 
angry.  We  only  thought  of  one  thing — our  love — ” 
her  voice  broke  at  the  word,  “and  our  own  happiness. 
We  did  not  consider  others.  It  is  that  which  sometimes 
has  made  me  afraid,  that  we  believed  ourselves  above  the 
law.  And  now  that  we  have  — begun  so  well,  don’t  spoil 
it,  Hugh  ! Give  them  time,  let  them  see  by  our  works 
that  we  are  in  earnest,  that  we  intend  to  live  useful  lives. 


460 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


I don’t  mean  to  beg  them,”  she  cried,  at  sight  of  his  eyes. 
u Oh,  I don’t  mean  that.  I don’t  mean  to  entreat  them,  or 
even  to  communicate  with  them.  But  they  are  your  flesh 
and  blood  — you  must  remember  that.  Let  us  prove  that 
we  are  — not  like  the  others,”  she  said,  lifting  her  head, 
“ and  then  it  cannot  matter  to  us  what  any  one  thinks. 
We  shall  have  justified  our  act  to  ourselves.” 

But  he  was  striding  up  and  down  the  room  again.  It 
was  as  she  feared  — her  plea  had  fallen  on  unheeding  ears. 
A sudden  convulsive  leaping  of  the  inner  fires  sent  him 
to  his  desk,  and  he  seized  some  note-paper  from  the  rack. 
Honora  rose  to  her  feet,  and  took  a step  towards  him. 

“ Hugh  — what  are  you  going  to  do  ? ” 

“ Do!  ” he  cried,  swinging  in  his  chair  and  facing  her, 
“I’m  going  to  do  what  any  man  with  an  ounce  of  self- 
respect  would  do  under  the  circumstances.  I’m  going  to 
do  what  I was  a fool  not  to  have  done  three  months  ago 
— what  I should  have  done  if  it  hadn’t  been  for  you.  If 
in  their  contemptible,  pharisaical  notions  of  morality  they 
choose  to  forget  what  my  mother  and  father  were  to  them, 
they  cease  to  exist  for  me.  If  it’s  the  last  act  of  my  life 
I’m  going  to  tell  them  so.” 

She  stood  gazing  at  him,  but  she  was  as  one  of  whom  he 
took  no  account.  He  turned  to  the  desk  and  began  to 
write  with  a deliberation  all  the  more  terrible  to  her  be- 
cause of  the  white  anger  he  felt.  And  still  she  stood. 
He  pressed  the  button  on  his  desk,  and  Starling  responded. 

“ I want  a man  from  the  stable  to  be  ready  to  take  some 
letters  to  town  in  half  an  hour,”  he  said. 

It  was  not  until  then  that  she  turned  and  slowly  left 
the  room.  A mortal  sickness  seemed  to  invade  her  vitals, 
and  she  went  to  her  own  chamber  and  flung  herself,  face 
downward,  on  the  lace  covering  of  the  bed:  and  the  sobs 
that  shook  her  were  the  totterings  of  the  foundations  of 
her  universe.  For  a while,  in  the  intensity  of  her  anguish, 
all  thought  was  excluded.  Presently,  however,  when  the 
body  was  spent,  the  mind  began  to  practise  its  subtle  and 
intolerable  torture,  and  she  was  invaded  by  a sense  of 
loneliness  colder  than  the  space  between  the  worlds. 


PHILOSOPHY  FROM  MR.  GRAINGER  461 


Where  was  she  to  go,  whither  flee,  now  that  his  wrath 
was  turned  against  her  ? On  the  strength  of  his  love  alone 
she  had  pinned  her  faith,  discarded  and  scorned  all  other 
help.  And  at  the  first  contact  with  that  greater  power 
which  he  had  taught  her  so  confidently  to  despise,  that 
strength  had  broken! 

Slowly,  she  gazed  back  over  the  path  she  had  trod, 
where  roses  once  had  held  up  smiling  heads.  It  was 
choked  now  by  brambles  that  scratched  her  nakedness 
at  every  step.  Ah,  how  easily  she  had  been  persuaded  to 
enter  it ! “We  have  the  right  to  happiness,”  he  had  said, 
and  she  had  looked  into  his  eyes  and  believed  him. 
What  was  this  strange,  elusive  happiness,  that  she  had  so 
pantingly  pursued  and  never  overtaken  ? that  essence 
pure  and  unalloyed  with  baser  things  ? Ecstasy,  perhaps, 
she  had  found  — for  was  it  delirium  ? Fear  was  the  boon 
companion  of  these  ; or  better,  the  pestilence  that  stalked 
behind  them,  ever  ready  to  strike. 

Then,  as  though  some  one  had  turned  on  a light  — a 
sickening,  yet  penetrating  blue  light  — she  looked  at  Hugh 
Chiltern.  She  did  not  wish  to  look,  but  that  which  had 
turned  on  the  light  and  bade  her  was  stronger  than  she. 
She  beheld,  as  it  were,  the  elements  of  his  being,  the  very 
sources  of  the  ceaseless,  restless  energy  that  was  driving 
him  on.  And  scan  as  she  would,  no  traces  of  the  vaunted 
illimitable  power  that  is  called  love  could  she  discern. 
Love  he  possessed ; that  she  had  not  doubted,  and  did  not 
doubt,  even  now.  But  it  had  been  given  her  to  see  that 
these  springs  had  existed  before  love  had  come,  and  would 
flow,  perchance,  after  it  had  departed.  Now  she  under- 
stood his  anger ; it  was  like  the  anger  of  a fiercely  rush- 
ing river  striving  to  break  a dam  and  invade  the  lands 
below  with  devastating  floods.  All  these  months  the 
waters  had  been  mounting.  . . . 

Turning  at  length  from  the  consideration  of  this  figure, 
she  asked  herself  whether,  if  with  her  present  knowledge 
she  had  her  choice  to  make  over  again,  she  would  have 
chosen  differently.  The  answer  was  a startling  negative. 
She  loved  him.  Incomprehensible,  unreasonable,  and  un- 


462 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


reasoning  sentiment  ! That  she  had  received  a wound, 
she  knew ; whether  it  were  mortal,  or  whether  it  would 
heal  and  leave  a scar,  she  could  not  say.  One  salient, 
awful  fact  she  began  gradually  to  realize,  that  if  she  sank 
back  upon  the  pillows  she  was  lost.  Little  it  would  profit 
her  to  save  her  body.  She  had  no  choice  between  her 
present  precarious  foothold  and  the  abyss,  and  wounded 
as  she  was  she  would  have  to  fight.  There  was  no  retreat. 

She  sat  up,  and  presently  got  to  her  feet  and  went  to 
the  window  and  stared  through  the  panes  until  she  distin- 
guished the  blue  whiteness  of  the  fallen  snow  on  her  little 
balcony.  The  night,  despite  the  clouds,  had  a certain 
luminous  quality.  Then  she  drew  the  curtains,  searched 
for  the  switch,  and  flooded  the  room  with  a soft  glow  — 
that  beautiful  room  in  which  he  had  so  proudly  installed 
her  four  months  before.  She  smoothed  the  bed,  and  walk- 
ing to  the  mirror  gazed  intently  at  her  face,  and  then  she 
bathed  it.  Afterwards  she  opened  her  window  again, 
admitting  a flurry  of  snow,  and  stood  for  some  minutes 
breathing  in  the  sharp  air. 

Three  quarters  of  an  hour  later  she  was  dressed  and  de- 
scending the  stairs,  and  as  she  entered  the  library  dinner 
was  announced.  Let  us  spare  Honora  the  account  of  that 
repast  or  rather  a recital  of  the  conversation  that  accom- 
panied it.  What  she  found  to  say  under  the  eyes  of  the 
servants  is  of  little  value,  although  the  fact  itself  deserves 
to  be  commended  as  a high  accomplishment  ; and  while 
she  talked,  she  studied  the  brooding  mystery  that  he  pre- 
sented, and  could  make  nothing  of  it.  His  mood  was  new. 
It  was  not  sullenness,  nor  repressed  rage  ; and  his  answers 
were  brief,  but  he  was  not  taciturn.  It  struck  her  that  in 
spite  of  a concentration  such  as  she  had  never  in  her  life 
bestowed  on  any  other  subject,  her  knowledge  of  him  — 
of  the  Chiltern  she  had  married — was  still  wofully  incom- 
plete, and  that  in  proportion  to  the  lack  of  perfection  of 
that  knowledge  her  danger  was  great.  Perhaps  the  Chil- 
tern she  had  married  was  as  yet  in  a formative  state.  Be 
this  as  it  may,  what  she  saw  depicted  on  his  face  to-night 
corresponded  to  no  former  experience. 


PHILOSOPHY  FROM  MR.  GRAINGER  463 

They  went  back  to  the  library.  Coffee  was  brought 
and  carried  off,  and  Honora  was  standing  before  the  fire. 
Suddenly  he  rose  from  his  chair,  crossed  the  room,  and 
before  she  could  draw  away  seized  and  crushed  her  in  his 
arms  without  a word.  She  lay  there,  inert,  bewildered  as 
in  the  grip  of  an  unknown  force,  until  presently  she  was 
aware  of  the  beating  of  his  heart,  and  a glimmering  of 
what  he  felt  came  to  her.  Nor  was  it  an  understandable 
thing,  except  to  the  woman  who  loved  him.  And  yet  — 
and  yet  she  feared  it  even  in  that  instant  of  glory.  . . . 
When  at  last  she  dared  to  look  up,  he  kissed  away  the 
tears  from  her  cheeks. 

“ I love  you,”  he  said.  “ You  must  never  doubt  it  — do 
you  understand  ? ” 

“ Yes,  Hugh.” 

“You  must  never  doubt  it,”  he  repeated  roughly. 

His  contrition  was  a strange  thing  — if  it  were  contri- 
tion. And  love  — woman’s  love  — is  sometimes  the  coun- 
sellor of  wisdom.  Her  sole  reproach  was  to  return  his 
kiss. 

Presently  she  chose  a book,  and  he  read  to  her. 


CHAPTER  XV 


THE  PILLAKS  OF  SOCIETY 

One  morning,  as  he  gathered  up  his  mail,  Chiltern  left 
lying  on  the  breakfast  table  a printed  circular,  an  appeal 
from  the  trustees  of  the  Grenoble  Hospital.  As  Honora 
read  it  she  remembered  that  this  institution  had  been  the 
favourite  charity  of  his  mother;  and  that  Mrs.  Chiltern, 
at  her  death,  had  bequeathed  an  endowment  which  at  the 
time  had  been  ample.  But  Grenoble  having  grown  since 
then,  the  deficit  for  this  year  was  something  under  two 
thousand  dollars,  and  in  a lower  corner  was  a request  that 
contributions  he  sent  to  Mrs.  Israel  Simpson. 

With  the  circular  in  her  hand,  Honora  went  thought- 
fully up  the  stairs  to  her  sitting-room.  The  month  was 
February,  the  day  overcast  and  muggy,  and  she  stood  for 
a while  apparently  watching  the  holes  made  in  the  snow 
by  the  steady  drip  from  the  cap  of  the  garden  wall. 
What  she  really  saw  was  the  face  of  Mrs.  Israel  Simpson, 
a face  that  had  haunted  her  these  many  months.  For 
Mrs.  Simpson  had  gradually  grown,  in  Honora’s  mind,  to 
typify  the  hardness  of  heart  of  Grenoble.  With  Grenoble 
obdurate,  what  would  become  of  the  larger  ambitions  of 
Hugh  Chiltern? 

Mrs.  Simpson  was  indeed  a redoubtable  lady,  whose 
virtue  shone  with  a particular  high  brightness  on  the 
Sabbath.  Her  lamp  was  brimming  with  oil  against  the 
judgment  day,  and  she  was  as  one  divinely  appointed  to 
be  the  chastener  of  the  unrighteous.  So,  at  least,  Honora 
beheld  her.  Her  attire  was  rich  but  not  gaudy,  and 
had  the  air  of  proclaiming  the  prosperity  of  Israel  Simp- 
son alone  as  its  unimpeachable  source:  her  nose  was  long, 
her  lip  slightly  marked  by  a masculine  and  masterful 
emblem,  and  her  eyes  protruded  in  such  a manner  as  to 
give  the  impression  of  watchfulness  on  all  sides. 

464 


THE  PILLARS  OF  SOCIETY 


465 


It  was  this  watchfulness  that  our  heroine  grew  to  re- 
gard as  a salient  characteristic.  It  never  slept  — even 
during  Mr.  Stopford’s  sermons.  She  was  aware  of  it 
when  she  entered  the  church,  and  she  was  sure  that  it 
escorted  her  as  far  as  the  carriage  on  her  departure.  It 
seemed  to  oppress  the  congregation.  And  Honora  had 
an  idea  that  if  it  could  have  been  withdrawn,  her  cruel 
proscription  would  have  ended.  For  at  times  she  thought 
that  she  read  in  the  eyes  of  some  of  those  who  made  way 
for  her,  friendliness  and  even  compassion. 

It  was  but  natural,  perhaps,  in  the  situation  in  which 
our  heroine  found  herself,  that  she  should  have  lost  her 
sense  of  proportion  to  the  extent  of  regarding  this  lady 
in  the  light  of  a remorseless  dragon  barring  her  only  path 
to  peace.  And  those  who  might  have  helped  her  — if  any 
there  were  — feared  the  dragon  as  much  as  she.  Mrs. 
Simpson  undoubtedly  would  not  have  relished  this  char- 
acterization, and  she  is  not  to  have  the  opportunity  of  pre- 
senting her  side  of  the  case.  We  are  looking  at  it  from 
Honora’s  view,  and  Honora  beheld  chimeras.  The 
woman  changed,  for  Honora,  the  very  aspect  of  the  house 
of  God;  it  was  she  who  appeared  to  preside  there,  or 
rather  to  rule  by  terror.  And  Honora,  as  she  glanced  at 
her  during  the  lessons,  often  wondered  if  she  realized  the 
appalling  extent  of  her  cruelty.  Was  this  woman,  who 
begged  so  audibly  to  be  delivered  from  pride,  vainglory, 
and  hypocrisy,  in  reality  a Christian  ? Honora  hated  her, 
and  yet  she  prayed  that  God  would  soften  her  heart. 
Was  there  no  way  in  which  she  could  be  propitiated, 
appeased  ? For  the  sake  of  the  thing  desired,  and  which 
it  was  given  this  woman  to  withhold,  she  was  willing  to 
humble  herself  in  the  dust. 

Honora  laid  the  hospital  circular  on  the  desk  beside 
her  account  book.  She  had  an  ample  allowance  from 
Hugh;  but  lying  in  a New  York  bank  was  what  remained 
of  the  unexpected  legacy  she  had  received  from  her  father, 
and  it  was  from  this  that  she  presently  drew  a cheque  for 
five  hundred  dollars,  — a little  sacrifice  that  warmed  her 
blood  as  she  wrote.  Not  for  the  unfortunate  in  the  hospi- 


466 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


tal  was  she  making  it,  but  for  him:  and  that  she  could  do 
this  from  the  little  store  that  was  her  very  own  gave  her 
a thrill  of  pride.  She  would  never  need  it  again.  If  he 
deserted  her,  it  mattered  little  what  became  of  her.  If 
he  deserted  her! 

She  sat  gazing  out  of  the  window  over  the  snow,  and  a 
new  question  was  in  her  heart.  Was  it  as  a husband  that 
he  loved  her  ? Did  their  intercourse  have  that  intangible 
quality  of  safety  that  belonged  to  married  life  ? And 
was  it  not  as  a mistress  rather  than  a wife  that,  in  their 
isolation,  she  watched  his  moods  so  jealously  ? A mis- 
tress! Her  lips  parted,  and  she  repeated  the  word  aloud, 
for  self-torture  is  human. 

Her  mind  dwelt  upon  their  intercourse.  There  were 
the  days  they  spent  together,  and  the  evenings,  working 
or  reading.  Ah,  but  had  the  time  ever  been  when,  in  the 
depths  of  her  being,  she  had  felt  the  real  security  of  a 
wife  ? When  she  had  not  always  been  dimly  conscious 
of  a desire  to  please  him,  of  a struggle  to  keep  him  inter- 
ested and  contented  ? And  there  were  the  days  when  he 
rode  alone,  the  nights  when  he  read  or  wrote  alone,  when 
her  joy  was  turned  to  misery;  there  were  the  alternating 
periods  of  passion  and  alienation.  Alienation,  perhaps, 
was  too  strong  a word.  Nevertheless,  at  such  times,  her 
feeling  was  one  of  desolation. 

His  heart,  she  knew,  was  bent  upon  success  at  Grenobie, 
and  one  of  the  books  which  they  had  recently  read  to- 
gether was  a masterly  treatise,  by  an  Englishman,  on  the 
life-work  of  an  American  statesman.  The  vast  width  of 
the  country,  from  the  Atlantic  to  the  Pacific,  was  stirred 
with  politics : a better  era  was  coming,  the  pulse  of  the 
nation  beating  with  renewed  life;  a stronger  generation 
was  arising  to  take  the  Republic  into  its  own  hands.  A 
campaign  was  in  progress  in  the  State,  and  twice  her  hus- 
band had  gone  some  distance  to  hear  the  man  who  em- 
bodied the  new  ideas,  and  had  come  back  moody  and 
restless,  like  a warrior  condemned  to  step  aside.  Suppose 
his  hopes  were  blighted  — what  would  happen  ? W ould 
the  spirit  of  reckless  adventure  seize  him  again?  Would 


THE  PILLARS  OF  SOCIETY 


467 


the  wilds  call  him  ? or  the  city  ? She  did  not  dare  to 
think. 

It  was  not  until  two  mornings  later  that  Hugh  tossed 
her  across  the  breakfast  table  a pink  envelope  with  a wide 
flap  and  rough  edges.  Its  sender  had  taken  advantage  of 
the  law  that  permits  one-cent  stamps  for  local  use. 

44  Who’s  your  friend,  Honora  ? ” he  asked. 

She  tried  to  look  calmly  at  the  envelope  that  contained 
her  fate. 

44  It’s  probably  a dressmaker’s  advertisement,”  she  an- 
swered, and  went  on  with  the  pretence  of  eating  her 
breakfast. 

44  Or  an  invitation  to  dine  with  Mrs.  Simpson,”  he  sug- 
gested, laughingly,  as  he  rose.  44  It’s  just  the  stationery 
she  would  choose.” 

Honora  dropped  her  spoon  in  her  egg-cup.  It  instantly 
became  evident,  however,  that  his  remark  was  casual  and 
not  serious,  for  he  gathered  up  his  mail  and  departed. 
Her  hand  trembled  a little  as  she  opened  the  letter,  and 
for  a moment  the  large  gold  monogram  of  its  sender 
danced  before  her  eyes. 

44  Dear  Madam , Permit  me  to  thank  you  in  the  name  of 
the  Trustees  of  the  G-renoble  Hospital  for  your  generous  con- 
tribution, and  believe  me.  Sincerely  yours, 

“Maria  W.  Simpson.” 

The  sheet  fluttered  to  the  floor. 

When  Sunday  came,  for  the  first  time  her  courage  failed 
her.  She  had  heard  the  wind  complaining  in  the  night, 
and  the  day  dawned  wild  and  wet.  She  got  so  far  as  to 
put  on  a hat  and  veil  and  waterproof  coat ; Starling  had 
opened  the  doors,  and  through  the  frame  of  the  doorway, 
on  the  wet  steps,  she  saw  the  footman  in  his  long  mackin- 
tosh, his  umbrella  raised  to  escort  her  to  the  carriage. 
Then  she  halted,  irresolute.  The  impassive  old  butler 
stood  on  the  sill,  a silent  witness,  she  kuew,  to  the 
struggle  going  on  within  her.  It  seemed  ridiculous  in- 
deed to  play  out  the  comedy  with  him,  who  could  have 
recited  the  lines.  And  yet  she  turned  to  him. 

44  Starling,  you  may  send  the  coachman  back  to  the  stable.  ” 


468 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


44  Very  good,  madam.” 

As  she  climbed  the  stairs  she  saw  him  gravely  closing 
the  doors.  She  paused  on  the  landing,  her  sense  of  re- 
lief overborne  by  a greater  sense  of  defeat.  There  was 
still  time  ! She  heard  the  wheels  of  the  carriage  on  the 
circle — yet  she  listened  to  them  die  away.  Starling 
softly  caught  the  latch,  and  glanced  up.  For  an  instant 
their  looks  crossed,  and  she  hurried  on  with  palpitating 
breast,  reached  her  boudoir,  and  closed  the  door.  The 
walls  seemed  to  frown  on  her,  and  she  remembered  that 
the  sitting-room  in  St.  Louis  had  worn  that  same  look 
when,  as  a child,  she  had  feigned  illness  in  order  to  miss 
a day  at  school.  With  a leaden  heart  she  gazed  out  on  the 
waste  of  melting  snow,  and  then  tried  in  vain  to  read  a 
novel  that  a review  had  declared  amusing.  But  a ques- 
tion always  came  between  her  and  the  pages  : was  this 
the  turning  point  of  that  silent  but  terrible  struggle,  when 
she  must  acknowledge  to  herself  that  the  world  had  been 
too  strong  for  her  ? After  a while  her  loneliness  became 
unbearable.  Chiltern  was  in  the  library. 

44  Home  from  church  ? ” he  inquired. 

44 1 didn’t  go,  Hugh.” 

He  looked  up  in  surprise. 

44  Why,  I thought  I saw  you  start,”  he  said. 

44 It’s  such  a dreary  day,  Hugh.” 

44  But  that  has  never  prevented  you  before.” 

44  Don’t  you  think  I’m  entitled  to  one  holiday  ? ” she 
asked. 

But  it  was  by  a supreme  effort  she  kept  back  the  tears. 
He  looked  at  her  attentively,  and  got  up  suddenly  and  put 
his  hands  upon  her  shoulders.  She  could  not  meet  his 
eyes,  and  trembled  under  his  touch. 

44  Honora,”  he  said,  44  why  don’t  you  tell  me  the  truth  ? ” 

44  What  do  you  mean,  Hugh  ? ” 

44 1 have  been  wondering  how  long  you’d  stand  it.  I 
mean  that  these  women,  who  call  themselves  Christians, 
have  been  brutal  to  you.  They  haven’t  so  much  as  spoken 
to  you  in  church,  and  not  one  of  them  has  been  to  this 
house  to  call.  Isn’t  that  so  ? ” 


THE  PILLARS  OF  SOCIETY 


469 


“ Don’t  let  us  judge  them  yet,  Hugh,”  she  begged,  a 
little  wildly,  feeling  again  the  gathering  of  another  de- 
stroying storm  in  him  that  might  now  sweep  the  last  ves- 
tige of  hope  away.  And  she  seized  the  arguments  as  they 
came.  “ Some  of  them  may  be  prejudiced,  I know.  But 
others — others  I am  sure  are  kind,  and  they  have  had  no 
reason  to  believe  I should  like  to  know  them  — to  work 
among  them.  I — I could  not  go  to  see  them  first,  I am 
glad  to  wait  patiently  until  some  accident  brings  me  near 
them.  And  remember,  Hugh,  the  atmosphere  in  which  we 
both  lived  before  we  came  here  — an  atmosphere  they  re- 
gard as  frivolous  and  pleasure-loving.  People  who  are  ac- 
customed to  it  are  not  usually  supposed  to  care  to  make 
friends  in  a village,  or  to  bother  their  heads  about  the  im- 
provement of  a community.  Society  is  not  what  it  was 
in  your  mother’s  day,  who  knew  these  people  or  their 
mothers,  and  took  an  interest  in  what  they  were  doing. 
Perhaps  they  think  me — haughty.”  She  tried  to  smile. 
“ I have  never  had  an  opportunity  to  show  them  that  I am 
not.” 

She  paused,  breathless,  and  saw  that  he  was  unconvinced. 

“ Do  you  believe  that,  Honora  ? ” he  demanded. 

“I  — I want  to  believe  it.  And  I am  sure,  that  if  it  is 
not  true  now,  it  will  become  so,  if  we  only  wait.” 

He  shook  his  head. 

“Never,”  he  said,  and  dropped  his  hands  and  walked 
over  to  the  fire.  She  stood  where  he  had  left  her. 

“ I understand,”  she  heard  him  say,  “ I understand  that 
you  sent  Mrs.  Simpson  five  hundred  dollars  for  the 
hospital.  Simpson  told  me  so  yesterday,  at  the  bank.” 

“I  had  a little  money  of  my  own  — from  my  father  — 
and  I was  glad  to  do  it,  Hugh.  That  was  your  mother’s 
charity.” 

Her  self-control  was  taxed  to  the  utmost  by  the  fact 
that  he  was  moved.  She  could  not  see  his  face,  but  his 
voice  betrayed  it. 

“ And  Mrs.  Simpson  ? ” he  asked,  after  a moment. 

“ Mrs.  Simpson  ? ” 

“ She  thanked  you  ? ” 


470 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


“ She  acknowledged  the  cheque,  as  president.  I was 
not  giving  it  to  her,  but  to  the  hospital.” 

“ Let  me  see  the  letter.” 

“I  — I have  destroyed  it.  ” 

He  brought  his  hands  together  forcibly,  and  swung 
about  and  faced  her. 

“ Damn  them!  ” he  cried,  “from  this  day  I forbid  you 
to  have  anything  to  do  with  them,  do  you  hear.  I forbid 
you  ! They’re  a set  of  confounded,  self-righteous  hypo- 
crites. Give  them  time  ! In  all  conscience  they  have  had 
time  enough,  and  opportunity  enough  to  know  what  our 
intentions  are.  How  long  do  they  expect  us  to  fawn  at 
their  feet  for  a word  of  recognition  ? What  have  we 
done  that  we  should  be  outlawed  in  this  way  by  the  very 
people  who  may  thank  my  family  for  their  prosperity? 
Where  would  Israel  Simpson  be  to-day  if  my  father  had 
not  set  him  up  in  business?  Without  knowing  anything 
of  our  lives  they  pretend  to  sit  in  judgment  on  us.  Why? 
Because  you  have  been  divorced,  and  I married  you. 
I’ll  make  them  pay  for  this!  ” 

“No  ! ”she  begged,  taking  a step  towards  him.  “You 
don’t  know  what  you’re  saying,  Hugh.  I implore  you 
not  to  do  anything.  Wait  a little  while!  Oh,  it  is  worth 
trying ! ” So  far  the  effort  carried  her,  and  no  farther. 
Perhaps,  at  sight  of  the  relentlessness  in  his  eyes,  hope 
left  her,  and  she  sank  down  on  a chair  and  buried  her 
face  in  her  hands,  her  voice  broken  by  sobs.  “ It  is  my 
fault,  and  I am  justly  punished.  I have  no  right  to  you 
— I was  wicked,  I was  selfish  to  marry  you.  I have  ruined 
your  life.” 

He  went  to  her,  and  lifted  her  up,  but  she  was  like  a 
child  whom  passionate  weeping  has  carried  beyond  the 
reach  of  words.  He  could  say  nothing  to  console  her, 
plead  as  he  might,  assume  the  blame,  and  swear  eternal 
fealty.  One  fearful,  supreme  fact  possessed  her,  the  wreck 
of  Chiltern  breaking  against  the  rocks,  driven  there  by 
her.  . . . 

That  she  eventually  grew  calm  again  deserves  to  be  set 
down  as  a tribute  to  the  organism  of  the  human  body. 


THE  PILLARS  OF  SOCIETY 


471 


That  she  was  able  to  breathe,  to  move,  to  talk,  to  go 
through  the  pretence  of  eating,  was  to  her  in  the  nature  of 
a mild  surprise.  Life  went  on,  but  it  seemed  to  Honora 
in  the  hours  following  this  scene  that  it  was  life  only.  Of 
the  ability  to  feel  she  was  utterly  bereft.  Her  calmness 
must  have  been  appalling  : her  own  indifference  to  what 
might  happen  now,  — if  she  could  have  realized  it, — even 
more  so.  And  in  the  afternoon,  wandering  about  the 
house,  she  found  herself  in  the  conservatory.  It  had  been 
built  on  against  the  library,  and  sometimes,  on  stormy 
afternoons,  she  had  tea  there  with  Hugh  in  the  red- 
cushioned  chairs  beside  the  trickling  fountain,  the  flowers 
giving  them  an  illusion  of  summer. 

Under  ordinary  circumstances  the  sound  of  wheels  on 
the  gravel  would  have  aroused  her,  for  Hugh  scarcely  ever 
drove.  And  it  was  not  until  she  glanced  through  the 
open  doors  into  the  library  that  she  knew  that  a visitor 
had  come  to  Highlawns.  He  stood  beside  the  rack  for  the 
magazines  and  reviews,  somewhat  nervously  fingering  a 
heavy  watch  charm,  his  large  silk  hat  bottom  upward  on 
the  chair  behind  him.  It  was  Mr.  Israel  Simpson.  She 
could  see  him  plainly,  and  she  was  by  no  means  hidden 
from  him  by  the  leaves,  and  yet  she  did  not  move.  He 
had  come  to  see  Hugh,  she  understood ; and  she  was  prob- 
ably going  to  stay  where  she  was  and  listen.  It  seemed 
of  no  use  repeating  to  herself  that  this  conversation  would 
be  of  vital  importance  ; for  the  mechanism  that  formerly 
had  recorded  these  alarms  and  spread  them,  refused  to  work. 
She  saw  Chiltern  enter,  and  she  read  on  his  face  that  he 
meant  to  destroy.  It  was  no  news  to  her.  She  had  known 
it  for  a long,  long  time  — in  fact,  ever  since  she  had  come 
to  Grenoble.  Her  curiosity,  strangely  enough  - — or  so  it 
seemed  afterwards — was  centred  on  Mr.  Simpson,  as 
though  he  were  an  actor  she  had  been  very  curious  to  see. 

It  was  this  man,  and  not  her  husband,  whom  she  per- 
ceived from  the  first  was  master  of  the  situation.  His 
geniality  was  that  of  the  commander  of  an  overwhelming 
besieging  force  who  could  afford  to  be  generous.  She 
seemed  to  discern  the  cloudy  ranks  of  the  legions  behind 


472 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


him,  and  they  encircled  the  world.  He  was  aware  of  these 
legions,  and  their  presence  completely  annihilated  the 
ancient  habit  of  subserviency  with  which  in  former  years 
he  had  been  wont  to  enter  this  room  and  listen  to  the  in- 
structions of  that  formidable  old  lion,  the  General:  so 
much  was  plain  from  the  orchestra.  He  went  forward 
with  a cheerful,  if  ponderous  bonhomie. 

“ Ah,  Hugh,”  said  he,  “ I got  your  message  just  in  time. 
I was  on  the  point  of  going  over  to  see  old  Murdock. 
Seriousty  ill — you  know  — last  time,  I’m  afraid,”  and 
Mr.  Simpson  shook  his  head.  He  held  out  his  hand. 
Hugh  did  not  appear  to  notice  it. 

“ Sit  down,  Mr.  Simpson,”  he  said. 

Mr.  Simpson  sat  down.  Chiltern  took  a stand  before 
him. 

“ You  asked  me  the  other  day  whether  I would  take  a 
certain  amount  of  the  stock  and  bonds  of  the  Grenoble 
Light  and  Power  Company,  in  which  you  are  interested, 
and  which  is,  I believe,  to  supply  the  town  with  electric 
light,  the  present  source  being  inadequate.” 

“So  I did,”  replied  Mr.  Simpson,  urbanely,  “and  I be- 
lieve the  investment  to  be  a good  one.  There  is  no  better 
power  in  this  part  of  the  country  than  Psalter’s  Falls.” 

“ I wished  to  inform  you  that  I do  not  intend  to  go  into 
the  Light  and  Power  Company,”  said  Chiltern. 

“ I am  sorry  to  hear  it,”  Mr.  Simpson  declared.  “ In 
my  opinion,  if  you  searched  the  state  for  a more  profitable 
or  safer  thing,  you  could  not  find  it.” 

“ I have  no  doubt  the  investment  is  all  that  could  be 
desired,  Mr.  Simpson.  I merely  wished  you  to  know,  as 
soon  as  possible,  that  I did  not  intend  to  put  my  money 
into  it.  There  are  one  or  two  other  little  matters  which 
you  have  mentioned  during  the  week.  You  pointed  out 
that  it  would  be  an  advantage  to  Grenoble  to  revive  the 
county  fair,  and  you  asked  me  to  subscribe  five  thousand 
dollars  to  the  Fair  Association.” 

This  time  Mr.  Simpson  remained  silent. 

“ I have  come  to  the  conclusion,  to-day,  not  to  subscribe 
a cent.  I also  intend  to  notify  the  church  treasurer  that 


THE  PILLARS  OF  SOCIETY 


473 


I will  not  any  longer  rent  a pew,  or  take  any  further  in- 
terest in  the  affairs  of  St.  John’s  church.  My  wife  was 
kind  enough,  I believe,  to  send  five  hundred  dollars  to  the 
Grenoble  hospital.  That  will  be  the  last  subscription  from 
any  member  of  my  family.  I will  resign  as  a director  of 
the  Grenoble  Bank  to-morrow,  and  my  stock  will  be  put 
on  the  market.  And  finally  I wished  to  tell  you  that 
henceforth  I do  not  mean  to  aid  in  any  way  any  enter- 
prise in  Grenoble.” 

During  this  announcement,  which  had  been  made  with 
an  ominous  calmness,  Mr.  Simpson  had  gazed  steadily  at 
the  brass  andirons.  He  cleared  his  throat. 

“ My  dear  Hugh,”  said  he,  “ what  you  have  said  pains 
me  excessively  — excessively.  I — ahem  — fail  to  grasp 
it.  As  an  old  friend  of  your  family  — of  your  father  — I 
take  the  liberty  of  begging  you  to  reconsider  your  words.” 

Chiltern’s  eyes  blazed. 

“ Since  you  have  mentioned  my  father,  Mr.  Simpson,” 
he  exclaimed,  44  I may  remind  you  that  his  son  might 
reasonably  have  expected  at  your  hands  a different  treat- 
ment than  that  you  have  accorded  him.  You  have  asked 
me  to  reconsider  my  decision,  but  I notice  that  you 
have  failed  to  inquire  into  my  reasons  for  making  it.  I 
came  back  here  to  Grenoble  with  every  intention  of 
devoting  the  best  efforts  of  my  life  in  aiding  to  build  up 
the  community,  as  my  father  had  done.  It  was  natural, 
perhaps,  that  I should  expect  a little  tolerance,  a little 
friendliness,  a little  recognition  in  return.  My  wife  was 
prepared  to  help  me.  We  did  not  ask  much.  But  you 
have  treated  us  like  outcasts.  Neither  you  nor  Mrs.  Simp- 
son, from  whom  in  all  conscience  I looked  for  consid- 
eration and  friendship,  have  as  much  as  spoken  to  Mrs. 
Chiltern  in  church.  You  have  made  it  clear  that,  while 
you  are  willing  to  accept  our  contributions,  you  cared  to 
have  nothing  to  do  with  us  whatever.  If  I have  over- 
stated the  case,  please  correct  me.” 

Mr.  Simpson  rose  protestingly. 

“ My  dear  Hugh,”  he  said.  44  This  is  very  painful.  I 
beg  that  you  will  spare  me.” 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


474 


“ My  name  is  Chiltern,”  answered  Hugh,  shortly.  “ Will 
you  kindly  explain,  if  you  can,  why  the  town  of  Grenoble 
has  ignored  us  ? ” 

Israel  Simpson  hesitated  a moment.  He  seemed  older 
when  he  looked  at  Chiltern  again,  and  in  his  face  commis- 

. . eration  and 
Ip  % indignation 

were  oddly 
intermingled. 
His  hand  sought 
€v.  his  watch  chain. 

“ Yes,  I will  tell 
you,”  he  replied 
slowly,  “ although  in 
all  my  life  no  crueller 
duty  has  fallen  on  me. 
It  is  because  we  in 
Grenoble  are  old-fash- 
ioned in  our  views  of 
morality,  and  I thank 
God  we  are  so.  It  is 
because  you  have  mar- 
ried a divorced  woman  under  circum- 
stances that  have  shocked  us.  The 
Church  to  which  I belong,  and  whose 
teachings  I respect,  does  not  recognize  such  a marriage. 
And  you  have,  in  my  opinion,  committed  an  offence 
against  society.  To  recognize  you  by  social  intercourse 
would  be  to  condone  that  offence,  to  open  the  door  to  prac- 
tices that  would  lead,  in  a short  time,  to  the  decay  of  our 
people.” 

Israel  Simpson  turned,  and  pointed  a shaking  forefinger 
at  the  portrait  of  General  Angus  Chiltern. 

“ And  I affirm  here,  fearlessly  before  you,  that  he,  your 
father,  would  have  been  the  last  to  recognize  such  a mar- 
riage.” 

Chiltern  took  a step  forward,  and  his  fingers  tightened. 

“ You  will  oblige  me  by  leaving  my  father’s  name  out 
of  this  discussion,”  he  said. 


THE  PILLARS  OF  SOCIETY 


475 


But  Israel  Simpson  did  not  recoil. 

44  If  we  learn  anything  by  example  in  this  world,  Mr. 
Chiltern,”  he  continued,  44and  it  is  my  notion  that  we  do, 
I am  indebted  to  your  father  for  more  than  my  start  in 
life.  Through  many  years  of  intercourse  with  him,  and 
contemplation  of  his  character,  I have  gained  more  than 
riches.  You  have  forced  me  to  say  this  thing.  I am 
sorry  if  I have  pained  you.  But  I should  not  be  true  to 
the  principles  to  which  he  himself  was  consistent  in  life, 
and  which  he  taught  by  example  so  many  others,  if  I ven- 
tured to  hope  that  social  recognition  in  Grenoble  would 
be  accorded  you,  or  to  aid  in  any  way  such  recognition. 
As  long  as  I live  I will  oppose  it.  There  are,  apparently, 
larger  places  in  the  world  and  less  humble  people  who 
will  be  glad  to  receive  you.  I can  only  hope,  as  an  old 
friend  and  well-wisher  of  your  family,  that  you  may  find 
happiness.” 

Israel  Simpson  fumbled  for  his  hat,  picked  it  up,  and 
left  the  room.  For  a moment  Chiltern  stood  like  a man 
turned  to  stone,  and  then  he  pressed  the  button  on  the 
wall  behind  him. 


CHAPTER  XVI 


IN  WHICH  A MIRROR  IS  HELD  UP 

Spring  came  to  Highlawns,  Eden  tinted  with  myriad 
tender  greens.  Yellow-greens,  like  the  beech  boughs 
over  the  old  wall,  and  gentle  blue-greens,  like  the  turf ; 
and  the  waters  of  the  lake  were  blue  and  white  in  imita- 
tion of  the  cloud-flecked  sky.  It  seemed  to  Honora,  as 
she  sat  on  the  garden  bench,  that  the  yellow  and  crimson 
tulips  could  not  open  wide  enough  their  cups  to  the  sun. 

In  these  days  she  looked  at  her  idol,  and  for  the  first 
time  believed  it  to  be  within  her  finite  powers  to  measure 
him.  She  began  by  asking  herself  if  it  were  really  she 
who  had  ruined  his  life,  and  whether  he  would  ultimately 
have  redeemed  himself  if  he  had  married  a woman  whom 
the  world  would  have  recognized.  Thus  did  the  first 
doubt  invade  her  heart.  It  was  of  him  she  was  think- 
ing still,  and  always.  But  there  was  the  doubt.  If  he 
could  have  stood  this  supreme  test  of  isolation,  of  the 
world’s  laughter  and  scorn,  although  it  would  have  made 
her  own  heavy  burden  of  responsibility  heavier,  yet  could 
she  still  have  rejoiced.  That  he  should  crumble  was  the 
greatest  of  her  punishments. 

Was  he  crumbling  ? In  these  months  she  could  not 
quite  be  sure,  and  she  tried  to  shut  her  eyes  when  the 
little  pieces  fell  off,  to  remind  herself  that  she  must  make 
allowances  for  the  severity  of  his  disappointment.  Spring 
was  here,  the  spring  to  which  he  had  so  eagerly  looked 
forward,  and  yet  the  listlessness  with  which  he  went  about 
his  work  was  apparent.  Sometimes  he  did  not  appear  at 
breakfast,  although  Honora  clung  with  desperation  to  the 
hour  they  had  originally  fixed:  sometimes  Mr.  Manning 
waited  for  him  until  nearly  ten  o’clock,  only  to  receive  a 
curt  dismissal.  He  went  off  for  long  rides,  alone,  and  to 

476 


IN  WHICH  A MIRROR  IS  HELD  UP  477 


the  despair  of  the  groom  brought  back  the  horses  in  a 
lather,  with  drooping  heads  and  heaving  sides;  one  of 
them  he  ruined.  He  declared  there  wasn’t  a horse  in  the 
stable  fit  to  give  him  exercise. 

Often  he  sat  for  hours  in  his  study,  brooding,  inaccess- 
ible. She  had  the  tennis-court  rolled  and  marked,  but  the 
contests  here  were  pitifully  unequal ; for  the  row  of  silver 
cups  on  his  mantel,  engraved  with  many  dates,  bore  wit- 
ness to  his  athletic  prowess.  She  wrote  for  a book  on 
solitaire,  but  after  a while  the  sight  of  cards  became  dis- 
tasteful. With  a secret  diligence  she  read  the  reviews, 
and  sent  for  novels  and  memoirs  which  she  scanned  eagerly 
before  they  were  begun  with  him.  Once,  when  she  went 
into  his  study  on  an  errand,  she  stood  for  a minute  gazing 
painfully  at  the  cleared  space  on  his  desk  where  once  had 
lain  the  papers  and  letters  relative  to  the  life  of  General 
Angus  Chiltern. 

There  were  intervals  in  which  her  hope  flared,  in  which 
she  tasted,  fearfully  and  with  bated  breath,  something 
that  she  had  not  thought  to  know  again.  It  was  charac- 
teristic of  him  that  his  penitence  was  never  spoken:  nor 
did  he  exhibit  penitence.  He  seemed  rather  at  such  times 
merely  to  become  normally  himself,  as  one  who  changes 
personality,  apparently  oblivious  to  the  moods  and  deeds 
of  yesterday.  And  these  occasions  added  perplexity  to 
her  troubles.  She  could  not  reproach  him  — which  per- 
haps in  any  event  she  would  have  been  too  wise  to  do; 
but  she  could  not,  try  as  she  would,  bring  herself  to  the 
point  of  a discussion  of  their  situation.  The  risk,  she  felt, 
was  too  great;  now,  at  least.  There  were  instances  that 
made  her  hope  that  the  hour  might  come. 

One  fragrant  morning  Honora  came  down  to  find  him 
awaiting  her,  and  to  perceive  lying  on  her  napkin  certain 
distilled  drops  of  the  spring  sunshine.  In  language  less 
poetic,  diamonds  to  be  worn  in  the  ears.  The  wheel  of 
fashion,  it  appeared,  had  made  a complete  revolution  since 
the  early  days  of  his  mother’s  marriage.  She  gave  a little 
exclamation,  and  her  hand  went  to  her  heart. 

“ They  are  Brazilian  stones,”  he  explained,  with  a boyish 


478 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


pleasure  that  awoke  memories  and  held  her  speechless. 
“ I believe  it’s  very  difficult,  if  not  impossible,  to  buy  them 
now.  My  father  got  them  after  the  war,  and  I had  them 
remounted.”  And  he  pressed  them  against  the  pink  lobes 
of  her  ears.  “ You  look  like  the  Queen  of  Sheba.” 

“ How  do  you  know?”  she  asked  tremulously.  “You 
never  saw  her.” 

“ According  to  competent  judges,”  he  replied,  “ she  was 
the  most  beautiful  woman  of  her  time.  Go  upstairs  and 
put  them  on.” 

She  shook  her  head.  An  inspiration  had  come  to  her. 

“Wait,”  she  cried.  And  that  morning,  when  Hugh 
had  gone  out,  she  sent  for  Starling  and  startled  him  by 
commanding  that  the  famous  Lowestoft  set  be  used  at 
dinner.  He  stared  at  her,  and  the  corners  of  his  mouth 
twitched,  and  still  he  stood  respectfully  in  the  doorway. 

“ That  is  all.  Starling.” 

“I  beg  pardon,  madam.  How  — how  many  will  there 
be  at  the  table  ? ” 

“Just  Mr.  Chiltern  and  I,”  she  replied.  But  she  did 
not  look  at  him. 

It  was  superstition,  undoubtedly.  She  was  well  aware 
that  Starling  had  not  believed  that  the  set  would  be 
used  again.  An  extraordinary  order,  that  might  well 
have  sent  him  away  wondering;  for  the  Lowestoft  had 
been  reserved  for  occasions.  Ah,  but  this  was  to  be  an 
occasion,  a festival ! The  whimsical  fancy  grew  in  her 
mind  as  the  day  progressed,  and  she  longed  with  an  un- 
accustomed impatience  for  nightfall,  and  anticipation  had 
a strange  taste.  Mathilde,  with  the  sympathetic  gift  of 
her  nation,  shared  the  excitement  of  her  mistress  in  this 
fete.  The  curtains  in  the  pink  bedroom  were  drawn,  and 
on  the  bed,  in  all  its  splendour  of  lace  and  roses,  was 
spread  out  the  dinner-gown  — a chef-d’oeuvre  of  Madame 
Barriere’s  as  yet  unworn.  And  no  vulgar,  worldly 
triumph  was  it  to  adorn. 

Her  heart  was  beating  fast  as  she  descended  the  stair- 
way, bright  spots  of  colour  flaming  in  her  cheeks  and  the 
diamonds  sparkling  in  her  ears.  A prima  donna  might 


IN  WHICH  A MIRROR  IS  HELD  UP  479 


have  guessed  her  feelings  as  she  paused,  a little  breathless, 
on  the  wide  landing  un- 
der the  windows.  She 
heard  a footstep.  Hugh 
came  out  of  the  library 
and  stood  motionless, 
looking  up  at  her.  But 
even  those  who  have  felt 
the  silence  and  the  stir 
that  prefaces  the  clamor- 
ous applause  of  the  thous- 
ands could  not  know  the 
thrill  that  swept  her  un- 
der his  tribute.  She  came 
down  the  last  flight  of 
steps,  slowly,  and  stopped 
in  front  of  him. 

“You  are  wonderful, 

Honora  ! ” he  said,  and 
his  voice  was  not  quite 
under  control.  He  took 
her  hand,  that  trembled 
in  his,  and  he  seemed  to 
be  seeking  to  express 
something  for  which  he 
could  find  no  words. 

Thus  may  the  King  have 
looked  upon  Rosamond  in 
her  bower  ; upon  a beauty 
created  for  the  adornment 
of  courts  which  he  had 
sequestered  for  his  eyes 
alone. 

Honora,  as  though 
merely  by  the  touch  of 
his  hand  in  hers,  divined 
his  thought. 

44  If  you  think  me  so,  dear, 
all  I ask.” 


she  whispered  happily, 


480 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


And  they  went  in  to  dinner  as  to  a ceremony.  It  was 
indeed  a ceremony  filled  for  her  with  some  occult,  sacred 
meaning  that  she  could  not  put  into  words.  A feast  sym- 
bolical. Starling  was  sent  to  the  wine-cellar  to  bring  back 
a cobwebbed  Madeira  near  a century  old,  brought  out  on 
rare  occasions  in  the  family.  And  Hugh,  when  his  glass 
was  filled,  looked  at  his  wife  and  raised  it  in  silence  to  his 
lips. 

She  never  forgot  the  scene.  The  red  glow  of  light 
from  the  shaded  candles  on  the  table,  and  the  corners  of 
the  dining  room  filled  with  gloom.  The  old  butler,  like  a 
high  priest,  standing  behind  his  master’s  chair.  The  long 
windows,  with  the  curtains  drawn  in  the  deep,  panelled 
arches;  the  carved  white  mantelpiece  ; the  glint  of  silver  on 
the  sideboard,  with  its  wine-cooler  underneath,  — these 
spoke  of  generations  of  respectability  and  achievement. 
Would  this  absorbed  isolation,  this  marvellous  wild  love  of 
theirs,  be  the  end  of  it  all  ? Honora,  as  one  detached,  as  a 
ghost  in  the  corner,  saw  herself  in  the  picture  with  star- 
tling clearness.  When  she  looked  up,  she  met  her  husband’s 
eyes.  Always  she  met  them,  and  in  them  a questioning, 
almost  startled  look  that  was  new. 

“ Is  it  the  earrings  ? ” she  asked  at  last. 

“I  don’t  know,”  he  answered.  “I  can’t  tell.  They 
seem  to  have  changed  you,  but  perhaps  they  have  brought 
out  something  in  your  face  and  eyes  I have  never  seen 
before.” 

“ And  — you  like  it,  Hugh  ? ” 

“ Yes,  I like  it,”  he  replied,  and  added  enigmatically, 
“ but  I don’t  understand  it.” 

She  was  silent,  and  oddly  satisfied,  trusting  to  fate  to 
send  more  mysteries. 

Two  days  had  not  passed  when  that  restlessness  for 
which  she  watched  so  narrowly  revived.  He  wandered 
aimlessly  about  the  place,  and  flared  up  into  such  a sudden 
violent  temper  at  one  of  the  helpers  in  the  fields  that  the 
man  ran  as  for  his  life,  and  refused  to  set  foot  again  on 
any  of  the  Chiltern  farms.  In  the  afternoon  he  sent  for 


IN  WHICH  A MIRROR  IS  HELD  UP  481 


Honora  to  ride  with  him,  and  scolded  her  for  keeping  him 
waiting.  And  he  wore  a spur,  and  pressed  his  horse  so 
savagely  that  she  cried  out  in  remonstrance,  although  at 
such  times  she  had  grown  to  fear  him. 

“ Oh,  Hugh,  how  can  you  be  so  cruel ! ” 

“ The  beast  has  no  spirit,”  he  said  shortly.  “ I’ll  get  one 
that  has.” 

Their  road  wound  through  the  western  side  of  the 
estate  towards  misty  rolling  country,  in  the  folds  of  which 
lay  countless  lakes,  and  at  length  they  caught  sight  of  an 
unpainted  farm-house  set  amidst  a white  cloud  of  apple 
trees  in  bloom.  On  the  doorstep,  whittling,  sat  a bearded, 
unkempt  farmer  with  a huge  frame.  In  answer  to  Hugh’s 
question  he  admitted  that  he  had  a horse  for  sale,  stuck 
his  knife  in  the  step,  rose,  and  went  off  towards  the  barn 
near  by;  and  presently  reappeared,  leading  by  a halter  a 
magnificent  black.  The  animal  stood  jerking  his  head, 
blowing  and  pawing  the  ground  while  Chiltern  examined 
him. 

“ He’s  been  ridden  ? ” he  asked. 

The  man  nodded. 

Chiltern  sprang  to  the  ground  and  began  to  undo  his 
saddle  girths.  A sudden  fear  seized  Honora. 

“ Oh,  Hugh,  you’re  not  going  to  ride  him ! ” she  ex- 
claimed. 

“Why  not?  How  else  am  I going  to  find  out  any- 
thing about  him  ? ” 

“ He  looks  — dangerous,”  she  faltered. 

“I’m  tired  of  horses  that  haven’t  any  life  in  them,”  he 
said,  as  he  lifted  off  the  saddle. 

“ I guess  we’d  better  get  him  in  the  barn,”  said  the 
farmer. 

Honora  went  behind  them  to  witness  the  operation, 
which  was  not  devoid  of  excitement.  The  great  beast 
plunged  savagely  when  they  tightened  the  girths,  and 
closed  his  teeth  obstinately  against  the  bit;  but  the  farmer 
held  firmly  to  his  nose  and  shut  off  his  wind.  They  led  him 
out  from  the  barn  floor. 

“ Your  name  Chiltern?”  asked  the  farmer. 

2 i 


482 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


“Yes,”  said  Hugh,  curtly. 

“Thought  so,”  said  the  farmer,  and  he  held  the  horse’s 
head. 

Honora  had  a feeling  of  faintness. 

“ Hugh,  do  be  careful ! ” she  pleaded. 

He  paid  no  heed  to  her.  His  eyes,  she  noticed,  had 
a certain  feverish  glitter  of  animation,  of  impatience,  such 


as  men  of  his  type  must  wear  when  they  go  into  battle. 
He  seized  the  horse’s  mane,  he  put  his  foot  in  the  stirrup ; 
the  astonished  animal  gave  a snort  and  jerked  the  bridle 
from  the  farmer’s  hand.  But  Chiltern  was  in  the  saddle, 
with  knees  pressed  tight. 

There  ensued  a struggle  that  Honora  will  never  forget. 
And  although  she  never  again  saw  that  farm-house,  its 
details  and  surroundings  come  back  to  her  in  vivid  colours 
when  she  closes  her  eyes.  The  great  horse  in  every  con- 
ceivable pose,  with  veins  standing  out  and  knotty  muscles 
twisting  in  his  legs  and  neck  and  thighs.  Once,  when  he 
dashed  into  the  apple  trees,  she  gave  a cry  ; a branch 
snapped,  and  Chiltern  emerged,  still  seated,  with  his  hat 


IN  WHICH  A MIRROR  IS  HELD  UP  483 


gone  and  the  blood  trickling  from  a scratch  on  his 
forehead.  She  saw  him  strike  with  his  spurs,  and  in  a 
twinkling  horse  and  rider  had  passed  over  the  dilapidated 
remains  of  a fence  and  were  flying  down  the  hard  clay 
road,  disappearing  into  a dip.  A reverberating  sound, 
like  a single  stroke,  told  them  that  the  bridge  at  the  bot- 
tom had  been  crossed. 

In  an  agony  of  terror,  Honora  followed,  her  head  on 
fire,  her  heart  pounding  faster  than  the  hoof  beats.  But  the 
animal  she  rode,  though  a good  one,  was  no  match  for  the 
great  infuriated  beast  which  she  pursued.  Presently  she 
came  to  a wooded  corner  where  the  road  forked  thrice, 
and  beyond,  — not  without  difficulty,  — brought  her  sweat- 
ing mare  to  a stand.  The  quality  of  her  fear  changed  from 
wild  terror  to  cold  dread.  A hermit  thrush,  in  the  wood 
near  by,  broke  the  silence  with  a song  inconceivably  sweet. 
At  last  she  went  back  to  the  farm-house,  hoping  against 
hope  that  Hugh  might  have  returned  by  another  road. 
But  he  was  not  there.  The  farmer  was  still  nonchalantly 
whittling. 

“ Oh,  liow  could  you  let  any  one  get  on  a horse  like 
that  ? ” she  cried. 

“ You’re  his  wife,  ain’t  you?  ” he  asked. 

Something  in  the  man’s  manner  seemed  to  compel  her  to 
answer,  in  spite  of  the  form  of  the  question. 

“ I 'am  Mrs.  Chiltern,”  she  said. 

He  was  looking  at  her  with  an  expression  that  she  found 
incomprehensible.  His  glance  was  penetrating,  yet  here 
again  she  seemed  to  read  compassion.  He  continued  to 
gaze  at  her,  and  presently,  when  he  spoke,  it  was  as  though 
he  were  not  addressing  her  at  all. 

“ You  put  me  in  mind  of  a young  girl  I used  to  know,” 
he  said;  “ seems  like  a long  time  ago.  You’re  pretty,  and 
you’re  young,  and  ye  didn’t  know  what  you  were  doin,’ 
I’ll  warrant.  Lost  your  head.  He  has  a way  of  gittin’ 
’em  — always  had.” 

Honora  did  not  answer.  She  would  have  liked  to  have 
gone  away,  but  that  which  was  stronger  than  her  held 
her. 


484 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


“ She  didn’t  live  here,”  he  explained,  waving  his  hand 
deprecatingly  towards  the  weather-beaten  house.  “We 
lived  over  near  Morrisville  in  them  days.  And  he  don’t 
remember  me,  your  husband  don’t.  I ain’t  surprised. 
I’ve  got  considerable  older.” 

Honora  was  trembling  from  head  to  foot,  and  her  hands 
were  cold. 

“ I’ve  got  her  picture  in  there,  if  ye’d  like  to  look  at  it,” 
he  said,  after  a while. 

“ Oh,  no ! ” she  cried.  “ Oh,  no  ! ” 

“Well,  I don’t  know  as  I blame  you.”  He  sat  down 
again  and  began  to  whittle.  “ Funny  thing,  chance,”  he 
remarked;  “ wlio’d  a thought  I should  have  owned  that 
there  hoss,  and  he  should  have  come  around  here  to 
ride  it?” 

She  tried  to  speak,  but  she  could  not.  The  hideous 
imperturbability  of  the  man’s  hatred  sickened  her.  And 
her  husband ! The  chips  fell  in  silence  until  a noise  on 
the  road  caused  them  to  look  up.  Chiltern  was  coming 
back.  She  glanced  again  at  the  farmer,  but  his  face  was 
equally  incapable,  or  equally  unwilling,  to  express  regret. 
'Chiltern  rode  into  the  dooryard.  The  blood  from  the 
scratch  on  his  forehead  had  crossed  his  temple  and  run  in 
a jagged  line  down  his  cheek,  his  very  hair  (as  she  had 
sometimes  seen  it)  was  damp  with  perspiration,  — blacker, 
kinkier ; his  eyes  hard,  reckless,  bloodshot.  So,  in  the 
past,  must  he  have  emerged  from  dozens  of  such  wilful, 
brutal  contests  with  man  and  beast.  He  had  beaten  the 
sweat-stained  horse  (temporarily — such  was  the  impres- 
sion Honora  received),  but  she  knew  that  he  would  like  to 
have  killed  it  for  its  opposition. 

“ Give  me  my  hat,  will  you?  ” he  cried  to  the  farmer. 

To  her  surprise  the  man  obeyed.  Chiltern  leaped  to 
the  ground. 

“ What  do  you  want  for  him  ? ” he  demanded. 

“I’ll  take  five  hundred  dollars.” 

“ Bring  him  over  in  the  morning,”  said  Chiltern, 
curtly.  . . . 

They  rode  homeward  in  silence.  Honora  had  not  been 


IN  WHICH  A MIRROR  IS  HELD  UP  485 


able  to  raise  her  voice  against  the  purchase,  and  she  seemed 
powerless  now  to  warn  her  husband  of  the  man’s  enmity. 
She  was  thinking,  rather,  of  the  horror  of  the  tragedy 
written  on  the  farmer’s  face,  to  which  he  had  given  her 
the  key:  Hugh  Chiltern,  to  whom  she  had  intrusted  her 
life  and  granted  her  all,  had  done  this  thing,  ruthlessly, 
even  as  he  had  satisfied  to-day  his  unbridled  cravings  in 
maltreating  a horse ! And  she  thought  of  that  other 
woman,  on  whose  picture  she  had  refused  to  look. 
What  was  the  essential  difference  between  that  woman 
and  herself  ? He  had  wanted  them  both,  he  had  taken 
them  both  for  his  pleasure,  heedless  of  the  pain  he  might 
cause  to  others  and  to  them.  For  her,  perhaps,  the  higher 
organism,  had  been  reserved  the  higher  torture.  She 
did  not  know.  The  vision  of  the  girl  in  the  outer  dark- 
ness reserved  for  castaways  was  terrible. 

LTp  to  this  point  she  had,  as  it  were,  been  looking  into 
one  mirror.  Now  another  was  suddenly  raised  behind  her, 
and  by  its  aid  she  beheld  not  a single,  but  countless,  images 
of  herself  endlessly  repeated.  How  many  others  besides 
this  girl  had  there  been  ? The  question  gave  her  the  shud-. 
der  of  the  contemplation  of  eternity.  It  was  not  the  first 
time  Honora  had  thought  of  his  past,  but  until  to-day  it 
had  lacked  reality;  until  to-day  she  had  clung  to  the  be- 
lief that  he  had  been  misunderstood ; until  to-day  she  had 
considered  those  acts  of  his  of  the  existence  of  which  she 
was  collectively  aware  under  the  generic  term  of  wild  oats. 
He  had  had  too  much  money,  and  none  had  known  how  to 
control  him.  Now,  through  this  concrete  example  of  an- 
other’s experience,  she  was  given  to  understand  that  which 
she  had  strangely  been  unable  to  learn  from  her  own. 
And  she  had  fancied,  in  her  folly,  that  she  could  control 
him ! Unable  as  yet  to  grasp  the  full  extent  of  her  ca- 
lamity, she  rode  on  by  his  side,  until  she  was  aware  at  last 
that  they  had  reached  the  door  of  the  house  at  Highlawns. 

uYou  look  pale,”  he  said  as  he  lifted  her  off  her  horse. 
The  demon  in  him,  she  perceived,  was  tired. 

“ Do  I?” 

“ What’s  the  matter  ? ” 


486 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


“ Nothing,”  she  answered. 

He  laughed. 

“ It’s  confoundedly  silly  to  get  frightened  that  way,”  he 
declared.  “The  beast  only  wants  riding.” 

Three  mornings  later  she  was  seated  in  the  garden  with 
a frame  of  fancy  work.  Sometimes  she  put  it  down.  The 
weather  was  overcast,  langourous,  and  there  was  a feeling 
of  rain  in  the  air.  Chiltern  came  in  through  the  gate,  and 
looked  at  her. 

“I’m  going  to  New  York  on  the  noon  train,”  he  said. 

“ To  New  York  ? ” 

“Yes.  Why  not?” 

“ There’s  no  reason  why  you  shouldn’t  if  you  wish  to,” 
she  replied,  picking  up  her  frame. 

“Anything  I can  get  you?  ” he  asked. 

“ No,  thank  you.” 

“ You’ve  been  in  such  a deuced  queer  mood  the  last  few 
days  I can’t  make  you  out,  Honora.” 

“ You  ought  to  have  learned  something  about  women  by 
this  time,”  she  said. 

“ It  seems  to  me,”  he  announced,  “ that  we  need  a little 
livening  up.” 


CHAPTER  XY II 


THE  EEISWAL  OH  AX  AXCIEXT  HOSPITALITY 

There  were  six  letters  from  him,  written  from  a club, 
representing  the  seven  clavs  of  his  absence.  He  made  no 
secret  of  the  fact  that  his  visit  to  the  metropolis  was  in  the 
nature  of  a relaxation  and  a change  of  scene,  but  the  letters 
themselves  contained  surprisingly  little  information  as  to 
how  he  was  employing  his  holiday.  He  had  encountered 
many  old  friends,  supposedly  all  of  the  male  sex : among 
them  — most  welcome  of  surprises  to  him  ! — Mr.  George 
Pembroke,  a boon  companion  at  Harvard.  And  this  men- 
tion of  boon  companionship  brought  up  to  Honora  a suffi- 
ciently vivid  idea  of  Mr.  Pembroke’s  characteristics.  The 
extent  of  her  knowledge  of  this  gentleman  consisted  in 
the  facts  that  he  was  a bachelor,  a member  of  a prominent 
Philadelphia  family,  and  that  time  hung  heavy  on  his 
hands. 

One  morning  she  received  a telegram  to  the  effect  that 

O O 

her  husband  would  be  home  that  night,  bringing  three 
people  with  him.  He  sent  his  love,  but  neglected  to  state 
the  names  and  sexes  of  the  prospective  guests.  And  she 
was  still  in  a quandary  as  to  what  arrangements  to  make 
when  Starling  appeared  in  answer  to  her  ring. 

“ You  will  send  the  omnibus  to  the  five  o’clock  train,” 
she  said.  “There  will  be  three  extra  places  at  dinner, 
and  tea  when  Mr.  Chiltern  arrives.” 

Although  she  strove  to  speak  indifferently,  she  was  sure 
from  the  way  the  old  man  looked  at  her  that  her  voice  had 
not  been  quite  steady.  Of  late  her  curious  feeling  about 
him  had  increased  in  intensity;  and  many  times,  during 
this  week  she  had  spent  alone,  she  had  thought  that  his 
eyes  had  followed  her  with  sympathy.  She  did  not  resent 
this.  Her  world  having  now  contracted  to  that  wide  house, 

487 


488 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


there  was  a comfort  in  knowing  that  there  was  one  in  it  to 
whom  she  could  turn  in  need.  For  she  felt  that  she  could 
turn  to  Starling;  he  alone,  apparently,  had  measured  the 
full  depth  of  her  trouble  ; nay,  had  silently  predicted 
it  from  the  beginning.  And  to-day,  as  he  stood  before 
her,  she  had  an  almost  irresistible  impulse  to  speak.  Just 
a word  — a human  word  would  have  been  such  a help  to 
her ! And  how  ridiculous  the  social  law  that  kept  the 
old  man  standing  there,  impassive,  respectful,  when  this 
existed  between  them  ! Her  tragedy  was  his  tragedy  ; not 
in  the  same  proportion,  perhaps ; nevertheless,  he  had  the 
air  of  one  who  would  die  of  it. 

And  she?  Would  she  die?  What  would  become  of 
her  ? When  she  thought  of  the  long  days  and  months 
and  years  that  stretched  ahead  of  her,  she  felt  that  her 
soul  would  not  be  able  to  survive  the  process  of  steady 
degradation  to  which  it  was  sure  to  be  subjected.  For 
she  was  a prisoner : the  uttermost  parts  of  the  earth  of- 
fered no  refuge.  To-day,  she  knew,  was  to  see  the  formal 
inauguration  of  that  process.  She  had  known  torture,  but 
it  had  been  swift,  obliterating,  excruciating.  And  here- 
after it  was  to  be  slow,  one  turn  at  a time  of  the  screws, 
squeezing  by  infinitesimal  degrees  the  life  out  of  her  soul. 
And  in  the  end  — most  fearful  thought  of  all  — in  the  end, 
painless.  Painless  ! She  buried  her  head  in  her  arms  on 
the  little  desk,  shaken  by  sobs.  . . . 

How  she  fought  that  day  to  compose  herself,  fought 
and  prayed ! Prayed  wildly  to  a God  whose  help,  never- 
theless, she  felt  she  had  forfeited,  who  was  visiting  her 
with  just  anger.  At  half-past  four  she  heard  the  carriage 
on  the  far  driveway,  going  to  the  station,  and  she  went 
down  and  walked  across  the  lawn  to  the  pond,  and  around 
it;  anything  to  keep  moving.  She  hurried  back  to  the 
house  just  in  time  to  reach  the  hall  as  the  omnibus  backed 
up.  And  the  first  person  she  saw  descend,  after  Hugh, 
was  Mrs.  Kame. 

u Here  we  are,  Honora,”  she  cried.  “ I hope  you’re  glad 
to  see  us,  and  that  you’ll  forgive  our  coming  so  informally. 
You  must  blame  Hugh.  We’ve  brought  A dele.” 


RENEWAL  OF  AN  ANCIENT  HOSPITALITY  489 


The  second  lady  was,  indeed,  none  other  than  Mrs. 
Eustace  Rindge,  formerly  Mrs.  Dicky  Farnham.  And 
she  is  worth  — even  at  this  belated  stage  in  our  chronicle  — 
an  attempted  sketch,  or  at  least  an  attempted  impression. 
She  was  fair,  and  slim  as  a schoolgirl;  not  very  tall,  not 
exactly  petite ; .... 

at  first  sight  she 
might  have  been 
taken  for  a par- 
ticularly imma-  § 
ture  debutante, 
and  her  dress 
was  youthful  and 
rather  mannish. 

Her  years,  at  this  period  of 
her  career,  were  in  truth  but 
two  and  twenty,  yet  she  had  con- 
trived, in  the  comparatively  brief  > ' 

time  since  she  had  reached  the  sup- 
posed  age  of  discretion,  to  marry  two  ^ 
men  and  build  two  houses,  and  inciden- 
tally to  see  a considerable  portion  of 
what  is  known  as  the  world.  The  sus- 
picion that  she  was  not  as  innocent  as  a dove  came  to 
one,  on  closer  inspection,  as  a shock:  her  eyes  were  tired, 
though  not  from  loss  of  sleep;  and  her  manner  — how 
shall  it  be  described  to  those  whose  happy  lot  in  life  has 
never  been  to  have  made  the  acquaintance  of  Mrs.  Rindge’s 
humbler  sisters  who  have  acquired  — more  coarsely,  it  is 
true  — the  same  camaraderie  ? She  was  one  of  those  for 
whom,  seemingly,  sex  does  not  exist.  Her  air  of  good- 
fellowship  with  men  was  eloquent  of  a precise  knowledge 
of  what  she  might  expect  from  them,  and  she  was  pre- 
pared to  do  her  own  policing,  — not  from  any  deep  moral 
convictions.  She  belonged,  logically,  to  that  world  which 
is  disposed  to  take  the  law  into  its  own  hands,  and  she 
was  the  possessor  of  five  millions  of  dollars. 

“ I came  along,”  she  said  to  Honora,  as  she  gave  her 
hand-bag  to  a footman.  “ I hope  you  don’t  mind.  Abby 


490 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


and  I were  shopping  and  we  ran  into  Hugh  and  Georgie 
yesterday  at  Sherry’s,  and  we’ve  been  together  ever  since. 
Not  quite  that  — but  almost.  Hugh  begged  us  to  come 
up,  and  there  didn’t  seem  to  be  any  reason  why  we  shouldn’t, 
so  we  telephoned  down  to  Banbury  for  our  trunks  and 
maids,  and  we’ve  played  bridge  all  the  way.  By  the  way, 
Georgie,  where’s  my  pocket-book?  ” 

Mr.  Pembroke  handed  it  over,  and  was  introduced  by 
Hugh.  He  looked  at  Honora,  and  his  glance  somehow 
betokened  that  he  was  in  the  habit  of  looking  only  once. 
He  had  apparently  made  up  his  mind  about  her  before  he 
saw  her.  But  he  looked  again,  evidently  finding  her  at 
variance  with  a preconceived  idea,  and  this  time  she 
flushed  a little  under  his  stare,  and  she  got  the  impression 
that  Mr.  Pembroke  was  a man  from  whom  few  secrets  of  a 
certain  kind  were  hid.  She  felt  that  he  had  seized,  at  a 
second  glance,  a situation  that  she  had  succeeded  in  hiding 
from  the  women.  He  was  surprised,  but  cynically  so.  He 
was  the  sort  of  person  who  had  probably  possessed  at  Harvard 
the  knowledge  of  the  world  of  a Tammany  politician;  he 
had  long  ago  written  his  book — such  as  it  was — and  closed 
it:  or,  rather,  he  had  worked  out  his  system  at  a precocious 
age,  and  it  had  lasted  him  ever  since.  He  had  decided  that 
undergraduate  life,  freed  from  undergraduate  restrictions, 
was  a good  thing.  And  he  did  not,  even  in  these  days, 
object  to  breaking  something  valuable  occasionally. 

His  physical  attributes  are  more  difficult  to  describe,  so 
closely  were  they  allied  to  those  which,  for  want  of  a 
better  word,  must  be  called  mental.  He  was  neither  tall 
nor  short,  he  was  well  fed,  but  hard,  his  shoulders  too 
broad,  his  head  a little  large.  If  he  should  have  happened 
to  bump  against  one,  the  result  would  have  been  a bruise 
— not  for  him.  His  eyes  were  blue,  his  light  hair  short, 
and  there  was  a slight  baldness  beginning;  his  face  was 
red-tanned.  There  was  not  the  slightest  doubt  that  he 
could  be  effectively  rude,  and  often  was;  but  it  was  evident, 
for  some  reason,  that  he  meant  to  be  gracious  (for  Mr. 
Pembroke)  to  Honora.  Perhaps  this  was  the  result  of 
the  second  glance.  One  of  his  name  had  not  lacked,  in- 


RENEWAL  OF  AN  ANCIENT  HOSPITALITY  491 


deed,  for  instructions  in  gentility.  It  must  not  be  thought 
that  she  was  in  a condition  to  care  much  about  what  Sir. 
Pembroke  thought  or  did,  and  yet  she  felt  instinctively 
that  he  had  changed  his  greeting  between  that  first  and 
second  glance. 

“ I hope  you’ll  forgive  my  coming  in  this  way,”  he  said. 
“ I’m  an  old  friend  of  Hugh’s.” 

“ I’m  very  glad  to  have  Hugh’s  friends,”  she  answered. 

He  looked  at  her  again. 

“ Is  tea  ready  ? ” inquired  Mrs.  Kame.  “ I’m  famished.” 
And,  as  they  walked  through  the  house  to  the  garden, 
where  the  table  was  set  beside  the  stone  seat:  UI  don’t 
see  how  you  ever  can  leave  this  place,  Honora.  I’ve 
always  wanted  to  come  here,  but  it’s  even  more  beautiful 
than  I thought.” 

“ It’s  very  beautiful,”  said  Honora. 

“ I’ll  have  a whiskey  and  soda,  if  I may,”  announced 
Mrs.  Rindge.  “ Open  one,  Georgie.” 

“ The  third  to-day,”  said  Mr.  Pembroke,  sententiously, 
as  he  obeyed. 

“ I don’t  care.  I don’t  see  what  business  it  is  of  yours.” 

“ Except  to  open  them,”  he  replied. 

“ You’d  have  made  a fortune  as  a barkeeper,”  she  ob- 
observed,  dispassionately,  as  she  watched  the  process. 

“ He’s  made  fortunes  for  a good  many,”  said  Chiltern. 

“Not  without  some  expert  assistance  I could  mention,” 
Mr.  Pembroke  retorted. 

At  this  somewhat  pointed  reference  to  his  ancient  habits, 
Chiltern  laughed. 

“ You’ve  each  had  three  to-day  yourselves,”  said  Mrs. 
Rindge,  in  whose  bosom  Mr.  Pembroke’s  remark  evidently 
rankled,  “ without  counting  those  you  had  before  you  left 
the  club.” 

Afterwards  Mrs.  Kame  expressed  a desire  to  walk  about 
a little,  a proposal  received  with  disfavour  by  all  but 
Honora,  who  as  hostess  responded. 

“ I feel  perfectly  delightful,”  declared  Mrs.  Rindge. 
“ What’s  the  use  of  moving  about  ? ” And  she  sank  back 
in  the  cushions  of  her  chair. 


492 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


This  observation  was  greeted  with  unrestrained  merri- 
ment by  Mr.  Pembroke  and  Hugh.  Honora,  sick  at 
heart,  led  Mrs.  Kame  across  the  garden  and  through  the 
gate  in  the  wall.  It  was  a perfect  evening  of  early  J une, 
the  great  lawn  a vivid  green  in  the  slanting  light.  All 
day  the  cheerful  music  of  the  horse-mowers  had  been 
heard,  and  the  air  was  fragrant  with  the  odour  of  grass 
freshly  cut.  The  long  shadows  of  the  maples  and  beeches 


RENEWAL  OF  AN  ANCIENT  HOSPITALITY  493 


stretched  towards  the  placid  surface  of  the  lake,  dimpled 
here  and  there  by  a fish’s  swirl : the  spiraeas  were  laden 
as  with  freshly  fallen  snow,  a lone  Judas-tree  was  decked 
in  pink.  The  steep  pastures  beyond  the  water  were 
touched  with  gold,  while  to  the  northward,  on  the  distant 
hills,  tender  blue  lights  gathered  lovingly  around  the 
copses.  Mrs.  Kame  sighed. 

“What  a terrible  thing  it  is,”  she  said,  “that  we  are 
never  satisfied!  It’s  the  men  who  ruin  all  this  for  us,  I 
believe,  and  prevent  our  enjoying  it.  Look  at  Adele.” 
Honora  had  indeed  looked  at  her. 

“I  found  out  the  other  day  what  is  the  matter  with  her. 
She’s  madly  in  love  with  Dicky.” 

“ With — with  her  former  husband  ? ” 

“Yes,  with  poor  little  innocent  Dicky  Farnham,  who’s 
probably  still  congratulating  himself,  like  a canary  bird 
that’s  got  out  of  a cage.  Somehow  Dicky’s  always  re- 
minded me  of  a canary  ; perhaps  it’s  his  name.  Isn’t  it 
odd  that  she  should  be  in  love  with  him  ? ” 

“ I think,”  replied  Honora,  slowly,  “ that  it’s  a tragedy.” 
“ It  is  a tragedy,”  Mrs.  Kame  hastily  agreed.  “ To  me, 
this  case  is  one  of  the  most  incomprehensible  aspects  of 
the  tender  passion.  Adele’s  idea  of  existence  is  a steeple- 
chase with  nothing  but  water-jumps,  Dicky’s  to  loiter 
around  in  a gypsy  van,  and  sit  in  the  sun.  During  his 
brief  matrimonial  experience  with  her,  he  nearly  died  for 
want  of  breath  — or  rather  the  life  was  nearly  shaken  out 
of  him.  And  yet  she  wants  Dicky  again.  She’d  run 
away  with  him  to-morrow  if  he  should  come  within  hail- 
ing distance  of  her.” 

“ And  her  husband  ? ” asked  Honora. 

“ Eustace  ? Did  you  ever  see  him  ? That  accounts 
for  your  question.  He  only  left  France  long  enough  to 
come  over  here  and  make  love  to  her,  and  he  swears  he’ll 
never  leave  it  again.  If  she  divorces  him,  he’ll  have  to 
have  alimony.” 

At  last  Honora  was  able  to  gain  her  own  room,  but  even 
seclusion,  though  preferable  to  the  companionship  of  her 
guests,  was  almost  intolerable.  The  tragedy  of  Mrs. 


494 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


Rindge  had  served  — if  such  a thing  could  be  — to  enhance 
her  own ; a sudden  spectacle  of  a woman  in  a more  ad- 
vanced stage  of  desperation.  Would  she,  Honora,  ever 
become  like  that  ? Up  to  the  present  she  felt  that  suffering 
had  refined  her,  and  a great  love  had  burned  away  all  that 
was  false.  But  now — now  that  her  god  had  turned  to 
clay,  what  would  happen  ? Desperation  seemed  possible, 
notwithstanding  the  awfulness  of  the  example.  No,  she 
would  never  come  to  that ! And  she  repeated  it  over  and 
over  to  herself  as  she  dressed,  as  though  to  strengthen  her 
will. 

During  her  conversation  with  Mrs.  Kame  she  had  more 
than  once  suspected,  in  spite  of  her  efforts,  that  the  lady 
had  read  her  state  of  mind.  For  Mrs.  Fame’s  omissions 
were  eloquent  to  the  discerning  : Chiltern’s  relatives  had 
been  mentioned  with  a casualness  intended  to  imply  that  no 
breach  existed,  and  the  fiction  that  Honora  could  at  any 
moment  take  up  her  former  life  delicately  sustained. 
Mrs.  Kame  had  adaptably  chosen  the  attitude,  after  a 
glance  around  her,  that  Honora  preferred  Highlawns  to 
the  world:  a choice  of  which  she  let  it  be  known  that 
she  approved,  while  deploring  that  a frivolous  character 
put  such  a life  out  of  the  question  for  herself.  She  made 
her  point  without  over-emphasis.  On  the  other  hand, 
Honora  had  read  Mrs.  Kame.  No  very  careful  perusal  was 
needed  to  convince  her  that  the  lady  was  unmoral,  and 
that  in  characteristics  she  resembled  the  chameleon.  But 
she  read  deeper.  She  perceived,  that  Mrs.  Kame  was  con- 
vinced that  she,  Honora,  would  adjust  herself  to  the  new 
conditions  after  a struggle ; and  that  while  she  had  a cer- 
tain sympathy  in  the  struggle,  Mrs.  Kame  was  of  opinion 
that  the  sooner  it  was  over  with  the  better.  All  women 
were  born  to  be  disillusionized.  Such  was  the  key,  at 
any  rate,  to  the  lady’s  conduct  that  evening  at  dinner, 
when  she  capped  the  anecdotes  of  Mr.  Pembroke  and  Mrs. 
Rindge  and  even  of  Chiltern  with  others  not  less  risquee 
but  more  fastidiously  and  ingeniously  suggestive.  The 
reader  may  be  spared  their  recital. 

Since  the  meeting  in  the  restaurant  the  day  before,  which 


RENEWAL  OF  AN  ANCIENT  HOSPITALITY  495 


had  resulted  in  Hugh’s  happy  inspiration  that  the  festival 
begun  should  be  continued  indefinitely  at  Highlawns,  a 
kind  of  freemasonry  had  sprung  up  between  the  four. 
Honora  found  herself,  mercifully,  outside  the  circle  : for 
such  was  the  lively  character  of  the  banter  that  a consider- 
able adroitness  was  necessary  to  obtain,  between  the  talk 
and  laughter,  the  ear  of  the  company.  And  so  full  were 
they  of  the  reminiscences  which  had  been  crowded  into 
the  thirty  hours  or  so  they  had  spent  together,  that  her 
comparative  silence  remained  unnoticed.  To  cite  an  ex- 
ample, Mr.  Pembroke  was  continually  being  addressed  as 
the  Third  Vice-president,  an  allusion  that  Mrs.  Rindge 
eventually  explained. 

“ You  ought  to  have  been  with  us  coming  up  on  the 
train,”  she  cried  to  Honora ; “ I thought  surely  we’d  be 
put  off.  We  were  playing  bridge  in  the  little  room  at 
the  end  of  the  car  when  the  conductor  came  for  our 
tickets.  Georgie  had  ’em  in  his  pocket,  but  he  told  the 
man  to  go  away,  that  he  was  the  third  vice-president  of 
the  road,  and  we  were  his  friends.  The  conductor  asked 
him  if  he  were  Mr.  Wheeler,  or  some  such  name,  and 
Georgie  said  he  was  surprised  he  didn’t  know  him.  Well, 
the  man  stood  there  in  the  door,  and  Georgie  picked 
up  his  hand  and  made  it  hearts  — or  was  it  diamonds, 
Georgie?  ” 

“ Spades,”  said  that  gentleman,  promptly. 

“ At  any  rate,”  Mrs.  Rindge  continued,  “ we  all  began 
to  play,  although  we  were  ready  to  blow  up  with  laughter, 
and  after  a while  Georgie  looked  around  and  said,  ‘ What, 
are  you  there  yet?  ’ My  dear,  you  ought  to  have  seen  the 
conductor’s  face ! He  said  it  was  his  duty  to  establish 
Georgie’s  identity,  or  something  like  that,  and  Georgie 
told  him  to  get  off  at  the  next  station  and  buy  Waring’s 
Magazine  — was  that  it,  Georgie?  ” 

“How  the  deuce  should  I know?  ” 

“ Well,  some  such  magazine.  Georgie  said  he’d  find  an 
article  in  it  on  the  Railroad  Kings  and  Princes  of  America, 
and  that  his  picture,  Georgie’s,  was  among  the  very  first ! ” 
At  this  juncture  in  her  narrative  Mrs.  Rindge  shrieked 


496 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


with  laughter,  in  which  she  was  joined  by  Mrs.  Kame  and 
Hugh;  and  she  pointed  a forefinger  across  the  table  at 
Mr.  Pembroke,  who  went  on  solemnly  eating  his  dinner. 
44  Georgie  gave  him  ten  cents  with  which  to  buy  the  maga- 
zine,” she  added  a little  hysterically.  44  W ell,  there  was 
a frightful  row,  and  a lot  of  men  came  down  to  that  end  of 
the  car,  and  we  had  to  shut  the  door.  The  conductor  said 
the  most  outrageous  things,  and  Georgie  pretended  to  be 
very  indignant,  too,  and  gave  him  the  tickets  under  pro- 
test. He  told  Georgie  he  ought  to  be  in  an  asylum  for 
the  criminally  insane,  and  Georgie  advised  him  to  get  a 
photograph  album  of  the  high  officials  of  the  railroad. 
The  conductor  said  Georgie’s  picture  was  probably  in  the 
rogue’s  gallery.  And  we  lost  two  packs  of  cards  out  of 
the  window.” 

Such  had  been  the  more  innocent  if  eccentric  diversions 
with  which  they  had  whiled  away  the  time.  When  dinner 
was  ended,  a renewal  of  the  bridge  game  was  proposed, 
for  it  had  transpired  at  the  dinner-table  that  Mrs.  Rindge 
and  Hugh  had  been  partners  all  day,  as  a result  of  which 
there  was  a considerable  balance  in  their  favour.  This 
balance  Mr.  Pembroke  was  palpably  anxious  to  wipe  out, 
or  at  least  to  reduce.  But  Mrs.  Kame  insisted  that  Honora 
should  cut  in,  and  the  others  supported  her. 

44  We  tried  our  best  to  get  a man  for  you,”  said  Mrs. 
Rindge  to  Honora.  44  Didn’t  we,  Abby  ? But  in  the  little 
time  we  had,  it  was  impossible.  The  only  man  we  saw 
was  Ned  Carrington,  and  Hugh  said  he  didn’t  think  you’d 
want  him.” 

44  Hugh  showed  a rare  perception,”  said  Honora. 

Be  it  recorded  that  she  smiled.  One  course  had  been 
clear  to  her  from  the  first,  although  she  found  it  infinitely 
difficult  to  follow ; she  was  determined,  cost  what  it  might, 
to  carry  through  her  part  of  the  affair  with  dignity,  but 
without  stiffness.  This  is  not  the  place  to  dwell  upon  the 
tax  to  her  strength. 

44  Come  on,  Honora,”  said  Hugh, 44  cut  in.”  His  tone  was 
of  what  may  be  termed  a rough  good  nature.  She  had 
not  seen  him  alone  since  his  return,  but  he  had  seemed 


RENEWAL  OF  AN  ANCIENT  HOSPITALITY  497 


distinctly  desirous  that  she  should  enjoy  the  festivities 
he  had  provided.  And  not  to  yield  would  have  been  to 
betray  herself. 

The  game,  with  its  intervals  of  hilarity,  was  inaugurated 
in  the  library,  and  by  midnight  it  showed  no  signs  of 
abating.  At  this  hour  the  original  four  occupied  the 
table  for  the  second  time,  and  endurance  has  its  limits. 
The  atmosphere  of  Liberty  Hall  that  prevailed  made 
Honora’s  retirement  easier. 

44  I’m  sure  you  won’t  mind  if  I go  to  bed,”  she  said. 
44  I’ve  been  so  used  to  the  routine  of  — of  the  chickens.” 
She  smiled.  44  And  I’ve  spent  the  day  in  the  open  air.” 

44  Certainly,  my  dear,”  said  Mrs.  Kame;  44 1 know  ex- 
actly how  one  feels  in  the  country.  I’m  sure  it’s  dread- 
fully late.  We’ll  have  one  more  rubber,  and  then  stop.” 

44  Oh,  don’t  stop,”  replied  Honora;  44  please  play  as  long 
as  you  like.” 

They  didn’t  stop  — at  least  after  one  more  rubber. 
Honora,  as  she  lay  in  the  darkness,  looking  through  the 
open  square  of  her  window  at  the  silver  stars,  heard  their 
voices  and  their  laughter  floating  up  at  intervals  from 
below,  and  the  little  clock  on  her  mantel  had  struck  the 
hour  of  three  when  the  scraping  of  chairs  announced  the 
breaking  up  of  the  party.  And  even  after  that  an  uncon- 
scionable period  elapsed,  beguiled,  undoubtedly,  by  anec- 
dotes ; spells  of  silence  — when  she  thought  they  had  gone 
— ending  in  more  laughter.  Finally  there  was  a crash  of 
breaking  glass,  a climax  of  uproarious  mirth,  and  all  was 
still.  . . . 

She  could  not  have  slept  much,  but  the  birds  were  sing- 
ing when  she  finally  awoke,  the  sunlight  pouring  into  her 
window.  And  the  hands  of  her  clock  pointed  to  half-past 
seven  when  she  rang  her  bell.  It  was  a relief  to  breakfast 
alone,  or  at  least  to  sip  her  coffee  in  solitude.  And  the 
dew  was  still  on  the  grass  as  she  crossed  the  wide  lawn  and 
made  her  way  around  the  lake  to  the  path  that  entered 
the  woods  at  its  farther  end.  She  was  not  tired,  yet  she 
would  have  liked  to  have  lain  down  under  the  green 
panoply  of  the  forest,  where  the  wild  flowers  shyly  raised 


498 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


sweet  faces  to  be  kissed,  and  lose  lierself  in  the  forgetful- 
ness of  an  eternal  sleep ; never  to  go  back  again  to  an 
Eden  contaminated.  But  when  she  lingered  the  melody 
of  a thrush  pierced  her  through  and  through.  At  last 
she  turned  and  reluctantly  retraced  her  steps,  as  one  whose 
hour  of  reprieve  has  expired. 

If  Mrs.  Rindge  had  a girlish  air  when  fully  arrayed  for 
the  day,  she  looked  younger  and  more  angular  still  in  that 
article  of  attire  known  as  a dressing-gown.  And  her  eyes, 
Honora  remarked,  were  peculiarly  bright : glittering,  per- 
haps, would  better  express  the  impression  they  gave ; as 
though  one  got  a glimpse  through  them  of  an  inward  con- 
suming fire.  Her  laughter  rang  shrill  and  clear  as  Honora 
entered  the  hall  by  the  rear  door,  and  the  big  clock  pro- 
claimed that  the  hour  was  half-past  eleven.  Hugh  and 
Mr.  Pembroke  were  standing  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs,  gaz- 
ing upward.  And  Honora,  following  their  glances,  be- 
held the  two  ladies,  in  the  negligee  referred  to  above,  with 
their  elbows  on  the  railing  of  the  upper  hall  and  their 
faces  between  their  hands,  engaged  in  a lively  exchange 
of  compliments  with  the  gentlemen.  Mrs.  Kame  looked 
sleepy. 

“ Such  a night  ! ” she  said,  suppressing  a yawn.  “ My 
dear,  you  did  well  to  go  to  bed.” 

“ And  to  cap  it  all,”  cried  Mrs.  Rindge,  “ Georgie  fell 
over  backwards  in  one  of  those  beautiful  Adam  chairs, 
and  there’s  literally  nothing  left  of  it.  If  an  ocean  steamer 
had  hit  it,  or  a freight  train,  it  couldn’t  have  been  more 
thoroughly  demolished.” 

“You  pushed  me,”  declared  Mr.  Pembroke. 
uDid  I,  Hugh  ? I barely  touched  him.” 
uYou  knocked  him  into  a cocked  hat,”  said  Hugh. 
“And  if  you’d  been  in  that  kimono,  you  could  have  done 
it  even  easier.” 

“ Georgie  broke  the  whole  whiskey  service,  — or  what- 
ever it  is,”  Mrs.  Rindge  went  on,  addressing  Honora  again. 
“He  fell  into  it.” 

“ He’s  all  right  this  morning,”  observed  Mrs.  Kame, 
critically. 


RENEWAL  OF  AN  ANCIENT  HOSPITALITY  499 


“ I think  I’ll  take  to  swallowing  swords  and  glass  and 
things  in  public.  I can  do  it  so  well,”  said  Mr.  Pembroke. 

“I  hope  you  got  what  you  like  for  breakfast,”  said 
Honora  to  the  ladies. 

“ Hurry  up  and  come  down,  Adele,”  said  Hugh,  “ if 
you  want  to  look  over  the  horses  before  lunch.” 

“ It’s  Georgie’s  fault,”  replied  Mrs.  Rindge ; “ he’s  been 
standing  in  the  door  of  my  sitting-room  for  a whole  half 
hour  talking  nonsense.” 

A little  later  they  all  set  out  for  the  stables.  These 
buildings  at  Highlawns,  framed  by  great  trees,  were  old- 
fashioned  and  picturesque,  surrounding  three  sides  of  a 
court,  with  a yellow  brick  wall  on  the  fourth.  The  roof 
of  the  main  building  was  capped  by  a lantern,  the  home 
of  countless  pigeons.  Mrs.  Rindge  was  in  a habit,  and 
one  by  one  the  saddle  horses  were  led  out,  chiefly  for  her 
inspection;  and  she  seemed  to  Honora  to  become  another 
woman  as  she  looked  them  oyer  with  a critical  eye  and  dis- 
cussed them  with  Hugh  and  O’ Grady,  the  stud-groom,  and 
talked  about  pedigrees  and  strains.  For  she  was  renowned 
in  this  department  of  sport  on  many  fields,  both  for  reck- 
lessness and  skill. 

“ Where  did  you  get  that  brute,  Hugh  ? ” she  asked 
presently. 

Honora,  who  had  been  talking  to  Pembroke,  looked 
around  with  a start.  And  at  the  sight  of  the  great  black 
horse,  bought  on  that  unforgettable  day,  she  turned  sud- 
denly faint. 

“ Over  here  in  the  country  about  ten  miles,”  Chiltern 
was  saying.  “ I heard  of  him,  but  I didn’t  expect  any- 
thing until  I went  to  look  at  him  last  week.” 

“ What  do  you  call  him  ? ” asked  Mrs.  Rindge. 

“ I haven’t  named  him.” 

“I’ll  give  you  a name.” 

Chiltern  looked  at  her.  “ What  is  it  ? ” he  said. 

“ Oblivion,”  she  replied. 

“ By  George,  Adele,”  he  exclaimed,  “ you  have  a way 
of  hitting  it  off  ! ” 

“ Will  you  let  me  ride  him  this  afternoon  ? ” she  asked. 


500 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


44  I’m  a — a candidate  for  oblivion.”  She  laughed  a little 
and  her  eyes  shone  feverishly. 

44  No  you  don’t,”  he  said.  44  I’m  giving  you  the  grey. 
He’s  got  enough  in  him  for  any  woman  — even  for  you. 
And  besides,  I don’t  think  the  black  ever  felt  a side  saddle, 
or  any  other  kind,  until  last  week.” 

44  I’ve  got  another  habit,”  she  said  eagerly.  44  I’d 
rather  ride  him  astride.  I’ll  match  you  to  see  who  has 
him.” 

Chiltern  laughed. 

44  No  you  don’t,”  he  repeated.  44  I’ll  ride  him  to-day, 
and  consider  it  to-morrow.” 

44 1 — I think  I’ll  go  back  to  the  house,”  said  Honora  to 
Pembroke.  44  It’s  rather  hot  here  in  the  sun.” 

44  I’m  not  very  keen  about  sunshine,  either,”  he  declared. 

At  lunch  she  was  unable  to  talk ; to  sustain,  at  least, 
a conversation.  That  word  oblivion,  which  Mrs.  Rindge 
had  so  aptly  applied  to  the  horse,  was  constantly  on  her 
lips,  and  it  would  not  have  surprised  her  if  she  had  spoken 
it.  She  felt  as  though  a heavy  weight  lay  on  her  breast, 
and  to  relieve  its  intolerable  pressure  drew  in  her  breath 
deeply.  She  was  wild  with  fear.  The  details  of  the  great 
room  fixed  themselves  indelibly  in  her  brain ; the  subdued 
light,  the  polished  table  laden  with  silver  and  glass,  the 
roses,  and  the  purple  hot-house  grapes.  All  this  seemed 
in  some  way  to  be  an  ironic  prelude  to  disaster.  Hugh, 
pausing  in  his  badinage  with  Mrs.  Rindge,  looked  at  her. 

44  Cheer  up,  Honora,”  he  said. 

44  I’m  afraid  this  first  house-party  is  too  much  for  her,” 
said  Mrs.  Kame. 

Honora  made  some  protest  that  seemed  to  satisfy  them, 
tried  to  rally  herself,  and  succeeded  sufficiently  to  pass 
muster.  After  lunch  they  repaired  again  to  the  bridge 
table,  and  at  four  Hugh  went  upstairs  to  change  into  his 
riding  clothes.  Five  minutes  longer  she  controlled  herself, 
and  then  made  some  paltry  excuse,  indifferent  now  as  to 
what  they  said  or  thought,  and  followed  him.  She  knocked 
at  his  dressing-room  door  and  entered.  He  was  drawing 
on  his  boots.  44  Hello,  Honora,”  he  said. 


RENEWAL  OF  AN  ANCIENT  HOSPITALITY  501 


Honora  turned  to  his  man,  and  dismissed  him. 

44  I wish  to  speak  to  Mr.  Chiltern  alone.” 

Chiltern  paused  in  his  tugging  at  the  straps,  and  looked 
up  at  her. 

44  What’s  the  matter  with  you  to-day,  Honora  ? ” he 
asked.  44  You  looked  like  the  chief  mourner  at  a funeral 
all  through  lunch.” 

He  was  a little  on  edge,  that  she  knew.  He  gave  another 
tug  at  the  boot, 
and  while  she  was 
still  hesitating,  he 
began  again. 

44 1 ought  to 
apologize,  I know, 
for  bringing  these 
people  up  without 
notice,  but  I didn’t 
suppose  you’d  ob- 
ject when  you 
understood  how 
naturally  it  all 
came  about.  I thought  a little 
livening  up,  as  I said,  wouldn’t 
hurt  us.  We’ve  had  a quiet  winter,  to 
put  it  mildly.”  He  laughed  a little. 

44 1 didn’t  have  a chance  to  see  you  until  this 
morning,  and  when  I went  to  your  room  they 
told  me  you’d  gone  out.” 

44  Hugh,”  she  said,  laying  her  hand  on  his  shoulder.  44  It 
isn’t  the  guests.  If  you  want  people,  and  they  amuse  you, 
I’m  — I’m  glad  to  have  them.  And  if  I’ve  seemed  to  be 
— cold  to  them,  I’m  sorry.  I tried  my  best  — I mean  I 
did  not  intend  to  be  cold.  I’ll  sit  up  all  night  with  them, 
if  you  like.  And  I didn’t  come  to  reproach  you,  Hugh. 
I’ll  never  do  that  — I’ve  got  no  right  to.” 

She  passed  her  hand  over  her  eyes.  If  she  had  any 
wrongs,  if  she  had  suffered  any  pain,  the  fear  that  ob- 
sessed her  obliterated  all.  In  spite  of  her  disillusionment, 
in  spite  of  her  newly  acquired  ability  to  see  him  as  he  was, 


502 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


enough  love  remained  to  scatter,  when  summoned,  her 
pride  to  the  winds. 

Having  got  on  both  boots,  he  stood  up. 

44  What’s  the  trouble,  then  ? ” he  asked.  And  he  took  an 
instant’s  hold  of  her  chin  — a habit  he  had  — and  smiled 
at  her. 

He  little  knew  how  sublime,  in  its  unconscious  effron- 
tery, his  question  was  ! She  tried  to  compose  herself,  that 
she  might  be  able  to  present  comprehensively  to  his  finite 
masculine  mind  the  ache  of  to-day. 

44  Hugh,  it’s  that  black  horse.”  She  could  not  bring 
herself  to  pronounce  the  name  Mrs.  Rindge  had  chris- 
tened him. 

44  What  about  him  ? ” he  said,  putting  on  his  waistcoat. 

44 Don’t  ride  him!”  she  pleaded.  44 1 — I’m  afraid  of 
him  — I’ve  been  afraid  of  him  ever  since  that  day.  . . . 
It  may  be  a foolish  feeling,  I know.  Sometimes  the  feel- 
ings that  hurt  women  most  are  foolish.  If  I tell  you  that 
if  you  ride  him  you  will  torture  me,  I’m  sure  you’ll  grant 
what  I ask.  It’s  such  a little  thing  — and  it  means  so 
much  — so  much  agony  to  me.  I’d  do  anything  for  you 
— give  up  anything  in  the  world  at  your  slightest  wish. 
Don’t  ride  him  ! ” 

44  This  is  a ridiculous  fancy  of  yours,  Honora.  The 
horse  is  all  right.  I’ve  ridden  dozens  of  worse  ones.” 

44  Oh,  I’m  sure  he  isn’t,”  she  cried;  44  call  it  fancy,  call 
it  instinct,  call  it  anything  you  like  — but  I feel  it,  Hugh. 
That  woman  — Mrs.  Rindge  — knows  something  about 
horses,  and  she  said  he  was  a brute.” 

44  Yes,”  he  interrupted,  with  a short  laugh,  44  and  she 
wants  to  ride  him.” 

44  Hugh,  she’s  reckless.  I — I’ve  been  watching  her 
since  she  came  here,  and  I’m  sure  she’s  reckless  with  — 
with  a purpose.” 

44  You’re  morbid,”  he  said.  44  She’s  one  of  the  best 
sportswomen  in  the  country  — that’s  the  reason  she  wanted 
to  ride  the  horse.  Look  here,  Honora,  I’d  accede  to  any 
reasonable  request.  But  what  do  you  expect  me  to  do  ? ” 
he  demanded  ; 44  go  down  and  say  I’m  afraid  to  ride 


RENEWAL  OF  AN  ANCIENT  HOSPITALITY  503 


him  ? or  that  my  wife  doesn’t  want  me  to  ? I’d  never 
hear  the  end  of  it.  And  the  first  thing  Adele  would  do 
would  be  to  jump  on  him  herself  — a little  wisp  of  a 
woman  that  looks  as  if  she  couldn’t  hold  a Shetland  pony ! 
Can’t  you  see  that  what  you  ask  is  impossible  ? ” 

He  started  for  the  door  to  terminate  a conversation  which 
had  already  begun  to  irritate  him.  For  his  anger,  in  these 
days,  was  very  near  the  surface.  She  made  one  more  des- 
perate appeal. 

“Hugh  — the  man  who  sold  him  — he  knew  the  horse 
was  dangerous.  I’m  sure  he  did,  from  something  he  said 
to  me  while  you  were  gone.” 

u These  country  people  are  all  idiots  and  cowards,”  de- 
clared Chiltern.  “ I’ve  known  ’em  a good  while,  and  they 
haven’t  got  the  spirit  of  mongrel  dogs.  I was  a fool  to 
think  that  I could  do  anything  for  them.  They’re  kind 
and  neighbourly,  aren’t  they  ? ” he  exclaimed.  “ If  that 
old  rascal  flattered  himself  he  deceived  me,  he  was  mis- 
taken. He’d  have  been  mightily  pleased  if  the  beast  had 
broken  my  neck.” 

“ Hugh  — ! ” 

“ I can’t,  Honora.  That’s  all  there  is  to  it,  I can’t. 
Now  don’t  cut  up  about  nothing.  I’m  sorry,  but  I’ve  got 
to  go.  Adele’s  waiting.” 

He  came  back,  kissed  her  hurriedly,  turned  and  opened 
the  door.  She  followed  him  into  the  hallway,  knowing 
that  she  had  failed,  knowing  that  she  never  could  have 
succeeded.  There  she  halted  and  watched  him  go  down 
the  stairs,  and  stood  with  her  hands  tightly  pressed  to- 
gether : voices  reached  her,  a hurrah  from  George  Pem- 
broke, and  the  pounding  of  hoofs  on  the  driveway.  It 
had  seemed  such  a little  thing  to  ask  ! 

But  she  did  not  dwell  upon  this,  now,  when  fear  was 
gnawing  her : how  she  had  humbled  her  pride  for  days 
and  weeks  and  months  for  him,  and  how  he  had  refused 
her  paltry  request  lest  he  should  be  laughed  at.  Her  re- 
flections then  were  not  on  his  waning  love.  She  was 
filled  with  the  terror  of  losing  him  — of  losing  all  that  re- 
mained to  her  in  the  world.  Presently  she  began  to  walk 


504 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


slowly  towards  the  stairs,  descended  them,  and  looked 
around  her.  The  hall,  at  least,  had  not  changed.  She 
listened,  and  a bee  hummed  in  through  the  open  doorway. 
A sudden  longing  for  companionship  possessed  her  — no 
matter  whose  ; and  she  walked  hurriedly,  as  though  she 
were  followed,  through  the  empty  rooms  until  she  came 
upon  George  Pembroke  stretched  at  full  length  on  the 
leather-covered  lounge  in  the  library.  He  opened  his 
eyes,  and  got  up  with  alacrity. 

44  Please  don’t  move,”  she  said. 

He  looked  at  her.  Although  his  was  not  what  may  be 
called  a sympathetic  temperament,  he  was  not  without  a 
certain  knowledge  of  women  ; superficial,  perhaps.  But 
most  men  of  his  type  have  seen  them  in  despair  ; and 
since  he  was  not  related  to  this  particular  despair,  what 
finer  feelings  he  had  were  the  more  easily  aroused.  It 
must  have  been  clear  to  her  then  that  she  had  lost  the 
power  to  dissemble,  all  the  clearer  because  of  Mr.  Pem- 
broke’s cheerfulness. 

44 1 wasn’t  going  to  sleep,”  he  assured  her.  44  Circum- 
stantial evidence  is  against  me,  I know.  Where’s  Abby  ? 
reading  French  literature  ? ” 

44 1 haven’t  seen  her,”  replied  Honora. 

44  She  usually  goes  to  bed  with  a play  at  this  hour.  It’s 
a horrid  habit  — going  to  bed,  I mean.  Don’t  you  think  ? 
Would  you  mind  showing  me  about  a little  ? ” 

44  Do  you  really  wish  to  ? ” asked  Honora,  incredu- 
lously. 

44 1 haven’t  been  here  since  my  senior  year,”  said  Mr. 
Pembroke.  44  If  the  old  General  were  alive,  he  could 
probably  tell  you  something  of  that  visit  — he  wrote  to 
my  father  about  it.  I always  liked  the  place,  although 
the  General  was  something  of  a drawback.  Fine  old  man, 
with  no  memory.” 

44 1 should  have  thought  him  to  have  had  a good  mem- 
ory,” she  said. 

44 1 have  always  been  led  to  believe  that  he  was  once 
sent  away  from  college  in  his  youth,  — for  his  health,”  he 
explained  significantly.  44  No  man  has  a good  memory 


RENEWAL  OF  AN  ANCIENT  HOSPITALITY  505 


who  can’t  remember  that.  Perhaps  the  battle  of  Gettys- 
burg wiped  it  out.” 

Thus,  in  his  own  easy-going  fashion,  Mr.  Pembroke 
sought  to  distract  her.  She  put  on  a hat,  and  they  walked 
about,  the  various  scenes  recalling  incidents  of  holidays 
he  had  spent  at  Highlawns.  And  after  a while  Honora 
was  thankful  that  chance  had  sent  her  in  this  hour  to 
him  rather  than  to  Mrs.  Kame.  For  the  sight,  that  morn- 
ing, of  this  lady  in  her  dressing-gown  over  the  stairway, 
had  seemingly  set  the  seal  on  a growing  distaste.  Her 
feeling  had  not  been  the  same  about  Mrs.  Rindge  : Mrs. 
Kame’s  actions  savoured  of  deliberate  choice,  of  an  inhe- 
rent and  calculating  wickedness. 

Had  the  distraction  of  others  besides  himself  been  the 
chief  business  of  Mr.  Pembroke’s  life,  he  could  not  have 
succeeded  better  that  afternoon.  He  must  be  given  this 
credit:  his  motives  remain  problematical;  at  length  he 
even  drew  laughter  from  her.  The  afternoon  wore  on, 
they  returned  to  the  garden  for  tea,  and  a peaceful  stillness 
continued  to  reign  about  them,  the  very  sky  smiling 
placidly  at  her  fears.  Not  by  assuring  her  that  Hugh 
was  an  unusual  horseman,  that  he  had  passed  through 
many  dangers  beside  which  this  was  a bagatelle,  could  the 
student  of  the  feminine  by  her  side  have  done  half  so  well. 
And  it  may  have  been  that  his  success  encouraged  him  as 
he  saw  emerging,  as  the  result  of  his  handiwork,  an  unex- 
pectedly attractive  — if  still  somewhat  serious  — woman 
from  the  gloom  that  had  enveloped  her.  That  she  should 
still  have  her  distrait  moments  was  but  natural. 

He  talked  to  her  largely  about  Hugh,  of  whom  he  ap- 
peared sincerely  fond.  The  qualities  which  attracted 
Mr.  Pembroke  in  his  own  sex  were  somewhat  peculiar,  and 
seemingly  consisted  largely  in  a readiness  to  drop  the 
business  at  hand,  whatever  it  might  be,  at  the  suggestion 
of  a friend  to  do  something  else ; the  “ something  else,” 
of  course,  to  be  the  conception  of  an  ingenious  mind. 
And  it  was  while  he  was  in  the  midst  of  an  anecdote  prov- 
ing the  existence  of  this  quality  in  his  friend  that  he  felt 
a sudden  clutch  on  his  arm. 


506 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


They  listened.  Faintly,  very  faintly,  could  be  heard  the 
sound  of  hoof  beats ; rapid,  though  distant. 

“ Do  you  hear  ? ” she  whispered,  and  still  held  his  arm. 

“ It’s  just  like  them  to  race  back,”  said  Pembroke,  with 
admirable  nonchalance. 

“ But  they  wouldn’t  come  back  at  this  time  — it’s  too 
early.  Hugh  always  takes  long  rides.  They  started  for 
Hubbard’s  — it’s  twelve  miles.” 


“ Adele  changes  her  mind  every  minute  of  the  day,”  he 
said. 

44  Listen  ! ” she  cried,  and  her  clutch  tightened.  The 
hoof  beats  grew  louder.  44  It’s  only  one  — it’s  only  one 
horse  ! ” 

Before  he  could  answer,  she  was  already  halfway  up  the 
garden  path  towards  the  house.  He  followed  her  as  she 
ran  panting  through  the  breakfast  room,  the  dining 
room,  and  drawing-room,  and  when  they  reached  the  hall, 
Starling,  the  butler,  and  two  footmen  were  going  out  at 
the  door.  A voice  — Mrs.  Kame’s  — cried  out,  44  What  is 
it  ? ” over  the  stairs,  but  they  paid  no  heed.  As  they 
reached  the  steps  they  beheld  the  slight  figure  of  Mrs. 
Rindge  on  a flying  horse  coming  towards  them  up  the 
driveway.  Her  black  straw  hat  had  slipped  to  the  back 


RENEWAL  OF  AN  ANCIENT  HOSPITALITY  507 


of  her  neck,  her  hair  was  awry,  her  childish  face  white  as 
paper.  Honora  put  her  hand  to  her  heart.  There  was  no 
need  to  tell  her  the  news  — she  had  known  these  many 
hours. 

Mrs.  Rindge’s  horse  came  over  the  round  grass-plot  of 
the  circle  and  planted  his  fore  feet  in  the  turf  as  she  pulled 
him  up.  She  lurched  forward.  It  was  Starling  who  lifted 
her  off — George  Pembroke  stood  by  Honora. 

“ My  God,  Adele,”  he  exclaimed,  “ why  don’t  you 
speak  ? ” 

She  was  staring  at  Honora. 

“ I can’t!  ” she  cried.  “ I can’t  tell  you  — it’s  too  terri- 
ble! The  horse  — ” she  seemed  to  choke. 

It  was  Honora  who  went  up  to  her  with  a calmness  that 
awed  them. 

“ Tell  me,”  she  said,  “ is  he  dead  ? ” 

Mrs.  Rindge  nodded,  and  broke  into  hysterical  sobbing. 

“ And  I wanted  to  ride  him  myself,”  she  sobbed,  as  they 
led  her  up  the  steps. 

In  less  than  an  hour  they  brought  him  home  and  laid 
him  in  the  room  in  which  he  had  slept  from  boyhood,  and 
shut  the  door.  Honora  looked  into  his  face.  It  was  calm 
at  last,  and  his  body  strangely  at  rest.  The  passions 
which  had  tortured  it  and  driven  it  hither  and  thither 
through  a wayward  life  had  fled:  the  power  gone  that 
would  brook  no  guiding  hand,  that  had  known  no  master. 
It  was  not  until  then  that  she  fell  upon  him,  weeping.  . . . 


CHAPTER  XVIII 


IN  WHICH  MR.  ERWIN  SEES  PARIS 

As  she  glanced  around  the  sitting-room  of  her  apart- 
ment in  Paris  one  September  morning  she  found  it  diffi- 
cult, in  some  respects,  to  realize  that  she  had  lived  in  it 
for  more  than  five  years.  After  Chiltern’s  death  she  had 
sought  a refuge,  and  she  had  found  it  here : a refuge  in 
which  she  meant  — if  her  intention  maybe  so  definitely 
stated  — to  pass  the  remainder  of  her  days. 

As  a refuge  it  had  become  dear  to  her.  When  first 
she  had  entered  it  she  had  looked  about  her  numbly, 
thankful  for  walls  and  roof,  thankful  for  its  remoteness 
from  the  haunts  of  the  prying:  as  a shipwrecked  castaway 
regards,  at  the  first  light,  the  cave  into  which  he  has 
stumbled  into  the  darkness  — gratefully.  And  gradually, 
castaway  that  she  felt  herself  to  be,  she  had  adorned  it 
lovingly,  as  one  above  whose  horizon  the  sails  of  hope  were 
not  to  rise  ; filled  it  with  friends  not  chosen  in  a day,  whose 
faithful  ministrations  were  not  to  cease.  Her  books, 
but  only  those  worthy  to  be  bound  and  read  again  ; the 
pictures  she  had  bought  when  she  had  grown  to  know 
what  pictures  were ; the  music  she  had  come  to  love  for 
its  eternal  qualities  — these  were  her  companions. 

The  apartment  was  in  the  old  quarter  across  the  Seine, 
and  she  had  found  it  by  chance.  The  ancient  family  of 
which  this  hotel  had  once  been  the  home  would  scarce 
have  recognized,  if  they  had  returned  the  part  of  it 
Honora  occupied.  The  room  in  which  she  mostly  lived 
was  above  the  corner  of  the  quiet  street,  and  might  have 
been  more  aptly  called  a sitting-room  than  a salon.  Its 
panels  were  the  most  delicate  of  blue -gray,  fantasti- 
cally designed  and  outlined  by  ribbings  of  blue.  Some 
of  them  contained  her  pictures.  The  chairs,  the  sofas, 

508 


IN  WHICH  MR.  ERWIN  SEES  PARIS  509 


the  little  tabourets,  were  upholstered  in  yellow,  their 
wood  matching  the  panels.  Above  the  carved  mantel  of 
yellowing  marble  was  a quaintly  shaped  mirror  extending 
to  the  high  ceiling,  and  flanked  on  either  side  by  sconces. 
The  carpet  was  a golden  brown,  the  hangings  in  the  tall 
windows  yellow.  And  in  the  morning  the  sun  came  in, 
not  boisterously,  but  as  a well-bred  and  cheerful  guest. 
An  amiable  proprietor  had  permitted  her  also  to  add  a 
wrought-iron  balcony  as  an  adjunct  to  this  room,  and 
sometimes  she  sat  there  on  the  warmer  days  reading  under 
the  seclusion  of  an  awning,  or  gazing  at  the  mysterious 
fagades  of  the  houses  opposite,  or  at  infrequent  cabs  or 
pedestrians  below. 

An  archway  led  out  of  the  sitting-room  into  a smaller 
room,  once  the  boudoir  of  a marquise,  now  Honora’s  library. 
This  was  in  blue  and  gold,  and  she  had  so  far  modified  the 
design  of  the  decorator  as  to  replace  the  mirrors  of  the 
cases  with  glass ; she  liked  to  see  her  books.  Beyond 
the  library  was  a dining  room  in  grey,  with  dark  red 
hangings ; it  overlooked  the  forgotten  garden  of  the  hotel. 

One  item  alone  of  news  from  the  outer  world,  vital  to 
her,  had  drifted  to  her  retreat.  Newspapers  filled  her 
with  dread,  but  it  was  from  a newspaper,  during  the  first 
year  of  her  retirement,  that  she  had  learned  of  the  death 
of  Howard  Spence.  A complication  of  maladies  was  men- 
tioned, but  the  true  underlying  cause  was  implied  in  the 
article,  and  this  had  shocked  but  not  surprised  her.  A 
ferment  was  in  progress  in  her  own  country,  the  affairs 
of  the  Orange  Trust  Company  being  investigated,  and  its 
president  under  indictment  at  the  hour  of  his  demise. 
Her  feelings  at  the  time,  and  for  months  after,  were  com- 
plex. She  had  been  moved  to  deep  pity,  for  in  spite 
of  what  he  had  told  her  of  his  business  transactions, 
it  was  impossible  for  her  to  think  of  him  as  a criminal. 
That  he  had  been  the  tool  of  others,  she  knew,  but  it 
remained  a question  in  her  mind  how  clearly  he  had  per- 
ceived the  immorality  of  his  course,  and  of  theirs.  He  had 
not  been  given  to  casuistry,  and  he  had  been  brought  up 
in  a school  the  motto  of  which  he  had  once  succinctly 


510 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


stated : the  survival  of  the  fittest.  He  had  not  been,  alas, 
one  of  those  to  survive. 

Hon  ora  had  found  it  impossible  to  unravel  the  tangled 
skein  of  their  relationship,  and  to  assign  a definite  amount 
of  blame  to  each.  She  did  not  shirk  hers,  and  was  willing 
to  accept  a full  measure.  That  she  had  done  wrong  in 
marrying  him,  and  again  in  leaving  him  to  marry  another 
man,  she  acknowledged  freely.  Wrong  as  she  knew  this 
to  have  been,  severely  though  she  had  been  punished  for 
it,  she  could  not  bring  herself  to  an  adequate  penitence. 
She  tried  to  remember  him  as  he  had  been  at  Silverdale, 
and  in  the  first  months  of  their  marriage,  and  not  as 
he  had  afterwards  become.  There  was  no  question  in  her 
mind,  now  that  it  was  given  her  to  see  things  more  clearly, 
that  she  might  have  tried  harder,  much  harder,  to  make 
their  marriage  a success.  He  might,  indeed,  have  done 
more  to  protect  and  cherish  her.  It  was  a man’s  part  to 
guard  a woman  against  the  evils  with  which  she  had  been 
surrounded.  On  the  other  hand,  she  could  not  escape  the 
fact,  nor  did  she  attempt  to  escape  it,  that  she  had  had 
the  more  light  of  the  two  : and  that,  though  the  task  were 
formidable,  she  might  have  fought  to  retain  that  light  and 
infuse  him  with  it. 

That  she  did  not  hold  herself  guiltless  is  the  important 
point.  Many  of  her  hours  were  spent  in  retrospection. 
She  was,  in  a sense,  as  one  dead,  yet  retaining  her  fac- 
ulties ; and  these  became  infinitely  keen  now  that  she 
was  deprived  of  the  power  to  use  them  as  guides  through 
life.  She  felt  that  the  power  had  come  too  late,  like  a 
legacy  when  one  is  old.  And  she  contemplated  the  Honora 
of  other  days  — of  the  flesh,  as  though  she  were  now  the 
spirit  departed  from  that  body ; sorrowfully,  poignantly 
regretful  of  the  earthly  motives,  of  the  tarnished  ideals 
by  which  it  had  been  animated  and  led  to  destruction. 

Even  Hugh  Chiltern  had  left  her  no  illusions.  She 
thought  of  him  at  times  with  much  tenderness  ; whether 
she  still  loved  him  or  not  she  could  not  say.  She  came  to 
the  conclusion  that  all  capacity  for  intense  feeling  had 
been  burned  out  of  her.  And  she  found  that  she  could 


IN  WHICH  MR.  ERWIN  SEES  PARIS  511 


permit  her  mind  to  rest  upon  no  period  of  her  sojourn  at 
Grenoble  without  a sense  of  horror  ; there  had  been  no 
hour  when  she  had  seemed  secure  from  haunting  terror, 
no  day  that  had  not  added  its  mite  to  the  gathering  evi- 
dence of  an  ultimate  retribution.  And  it  was  like  a 
nightmare  to  summon  again  this  spectacle  of  the  man 
going  to  pieces  under  her  eyes.  The  whole  incident  in 
her  life  as  time  wore  on  assumed  an  aspect  bizarre,  in- 
credible, as  the  follies  of  a night  of  madness  appear  in  the 
saner  light  of  morning.  Her  great  love  had  bereft  her 
of  her  senses,  for  had  the  least  grain  of  sanity  remained 
to  her  she  might  have  known  that  the  thing  they  at- 
tempted was  impossible  of  accomplishment. 

Her  feeling  now,  after  four  years,  might  be  described  as 
relief.  To  employ  again  the  figure  of  the  castaway,  she 
often  wondered  why  she  of  all  others  had  been  rescued 
from  the  tortures  of  slow  drowning  and  thrown  up  on  an 
island.  What  had  she  done  above  the  others  to  deserve 
preservation  ? It  was  inevitable  that  she  should  on  oc- 
casions picture  to  herself  the  years  with  him  that  would 
have  stretched  ahead,  even  as  the  vision  of  them  had  come 
to  her  that  morning  when,  in  obedience  to  his  telegram, 
she  had  told  Starling  to  prepare  for  guests.  Her  escape 
had  indeed  been  miraculous ! 

Although  they  had  passed  through  a ceremony,  the  con- 
viction had  never  taken  root  in  her  that  she  had  been  mar- 
ried to  Chiltern.  The  tie  that  had  united  her  to  him  had 
not  been  sacred,  though  it  had  been  no  less  binding ; more 
so,  in  fact.  That  tie  would  have  become  a shackle.  Her 
perception  of  this,  after  his  death,  had  led  her  to  instruct 
her  attorney  to  send  back  to  his  relatives  all  but  a small 
income  from  his  estate,  enough  for  her  to  live  on  during 
her  lifetime.  There  had  been  some  trouble  about  this 
matter;  Mrs.  Grainger,  in  particular,  had  surprised  her  in 
making  objections,  and  had  finally  written  a letter  which 
Honora  received  with  a feeling  akin  to  gratitude.  Whether 
her  own  action  had  softened  this  lady’s  feelings,  she  never 
understood ; she  had  cherished  the  letter  for  its  unex- 
pectedly charitable  expressions.  Chiltern’s  family  had  at 


512 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


last  agreed  to  accept  the  estate  on  the  condition  that  the 
income  mentioned  should  be  tripled.  And  to  this  Honora 
had  consented.  Money  had  less  value  than  ever  in  her 
eyes. 

She  lived  here  in  Paris  in  what  may  be  called  a certain 
peace,  made  no  demands  upon  the  world,  and  had  no  ex- 
pectations from  it.  She  was  now  in  half  mourning,  and  in- 
tended to  remain  so.  Her  isolation  was  of  her  own  choice, 
if  a stronger  expression  be  not  used.  She  was  by  no  means 
an  enforced  outcast.  And  she  was  even  aware  that  a 
certain  sympathy  for  her  had  grown  up  amongst  her 
former  friends  which  had  spread  to  the  colony  of  her  com- 
patriots in  Paris  ; in  whose  numbers  there  were  some,  by 
no  means  unrecognized,  who  had  defied  the  conventions 
more  than  she.  Hugh  Chiltern’s  reputation,  and  the  gen- 
eral knowledge  of  his  career,  had  no  doubt  aided  to  increase 
this  sympathy,  but  the  dignity  of  her  conduct  since  his 
death  was  at  the  foundation  of  it.  Sometimes,  on  her 
walks  and  drives,  she  saw  people  bowing  to  her,  and  recog- 
nized friends  or  acquaintances  of  what  seemed  to  her  like 
a former  existence. 

Such  had  been  her  life  in  Paris  until  a certain  day  in 
early  September,  a month  before  this  chapter  opens.  It 
was  afternoon,  and  she  was  sitting  in  the  balcony  cutting  a 
volume  of  memoirs  when  she  heard  the  rattle  of  a cab  on 
the  cobbles  below,  and  peered  curiously  over  the  edge  of 
the  railing.  Although  still  half  a block  away,  the  na- 
tional characteristics  of  the  passenger  were  sufficiently  ap- 
parent. He  was  an  American  — of  that  she  was  sure. 
And  many  Americans  did  not  stray  into  that  quarter. 
The  length  of  his  legs,  for  one  thing,  betrayed  him : he 
found  the  seat  of  the  fiacre  tpo  low,  and  had  crossed  one 
knee  over  the  other.  Other  and  less  easily  definable  at- 
tributes he  did  not  lack.  And  as  he  leaned  against  the 
faded  blue  cushions  regarding  with  interest  the  buildings 
he  passed,  he  seemed,  like  an  ambassador,  to  convert  the 
cab  in  which  he  rode  into  United  States  territory.  Then 
she  saw  that  it  was  Peter  Erwin. 

She  drew  back  her  head  from  the  balcony  rail,  and  tried 


IN  WHICH  MR.  ERWIN  SEES  PARIS  513 


to  sit  still  and  to  think,  but  she  was  trembling  as  one 
stricken  with  a chill.  The  cab  stopped  ; and  presently, 
after  an  interval,  his  card  was  handed  her.  She  rose,  and 
stood  for  a moment  with  her  hand  against  the  wall  before 
she  went  into  the  salon.  None  of  the  questions  she  had 
asked  herself  were  answered.  Was  she  glad  to  see  him? 
and  what  would  be  his  attitude  towards  her?  When  she 
beheld  him  standing  before  her  she  had  strength  only  to 
pronounce  his  name. 

He  came  forward  quickly  and  took  her  hand  and  looked 
down  into  her  face.  She  regarded  him  tremulously,  in- 
stinctively guessing  the  vital  importance  of  this  moment 
for  him ; and  she  knew  then  that  he  had  been  looking  for- 
ward to  it  in  mingled  hope  and  dread,  as  one  who  gazes 
seaward  after  a night  of  tempest  for  the  ship  he  has  seen 
at  dusk  in  the  offing.  What  had  the  tempest  done  to  her? 
Such  was  his  question.  And  her  heart  leaped  as  she  saw 
the  light  growing  in  his  eyes,  for  it  meant  much  to  her  that 
he  should  see  that  she  was  not  utterly  dismantled.  She 
felt  his  own  hand  tremble  as  he  relinquished  hers.  He 
was  greatly  moved  ; his  voice,  too,  betrayed  it. 

44  You  see  I have  found  you,”  he  said. 

44  Yes,”  she  answered;  44  — why  did  you  come  ? ” 

44  Why  have  I always  come  to  you,  when  it  was  possi- 
ble ? ” he  asked. 

44  No  one  ever  had  such  a friend,  Peter.  Of  that  I am 
sure.” 

44 1 wanted  to  see  Paris,”  he  said,  44  before  I grew  too 
decrepit  to  enjoy  it.” 

She  smiled,  and  turned  away. 

44  Have  you  seen  much  of  it  ? ” 

44  Enough  to  wish  to  see  more.” 

44  When  did  you  arrive  ? ” 

44  Some  time  in  the  night,”  he  said,  44  from  Cherbourg. 
And  I’m  staying  at  a very  grand  hotel,  which  might  be 
anywhere.  A man  I crossed  with  on  the  steamer  took  me 
there.  I think  I’d  move  to  one  of  the  quieter  ones,  the 
French  ones,  if  I were  a little  surer  of  my  pronunciation 
and  the  subjunctive  mood.” 


514 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


“ You  don’t  mean  to  say  you’ve  been  studying  French ! ” 

He  coloured  a little,  and  laughed. 

“ You  think  it  ridiculous  at  my  time  of  life?  I suppose 
you’re  right.  You  should  have  seen  me  trying  to  under- 
stand the  cabmen.  The  way  these  people  talk  reminds 
me  more  of  a Gatling  gun  than  anything  I can  think  of. 
It  certainly  isn’t  human.” 

44  Perhaps  you  have  come  over  as  ambassador,”  she  sug- 
gested. 44  When  I saw  you  in  the  cab,  even  before  I rec- 
ognized you,  I thought  of  a bit  of  our  soil  broken  off  and 
drifted  over  here.” 

Her  voice  did  not  quite  sustain  the  lighter  note  — the 
emotion  his  visit  was  causing  her  was  too  great.  He 
brought  with  him  into  her  retreat  not  so  much  a flood  of 
memories  as  of  sensations.  He  was  a man  whose  image 
time  with  difficulty  obliterates,  whose  presence  was  a shin- 
ing thing : so  she  had  grown  to  value  it  in  proportion  as 
she  had  had  less  of  it.  She  did  inevitably  recall  the  last 
time  she  had  seen  him,  in  the  little  Western  city,  and  how 
he  had  overwhelmed  her,  invaded  her  with  doubts  and 
aroused  the  spirit  which  had  possessed  her  to  fight  fiercely 
for  its  foothold.  And  to-day  his  coming  might  be  likened 
to  the  entrance  of  a great  physician  into  the  room  of  a dis- 
tant and  lonely  patient  whom  amidst  wide  ministrations 
he  has  not  forgotten.  She  saw  now  that  he  had  been  right. 
She  had  always  seen  it,  clearly  indeed  when  he  had  been 
beside  her,  but  the  spirit  within  her  had  been  too  strong,  — 
until  now.  Now,  when  it  had  plundered  her  soul  of  treas- 
ures— once  so  little  valued  — it  had  fled.  Such  were  her 
thoughts. 

The  great  of  heart  undoubtedly  possess  this  highest 
quality  of  the  physician,  — if  the  statement  may  thus  be 
put  backhandedly,  — and  Peter  Erwin  instinctively  under- 
stood the  essential  of  what  was  going  on  within  her.  He 
appeared  to  take  a delight  in  the  fancy  she  had  suggested, 
that  he  had  brought  a portion  of  the  newer  world  to 
France. 

44  Not  a piece  of  the  Atlantic  coast,  certainly,”  he  replied. 
44  One  of  the  muddy  islands,  perhaps,  of  the  Mississippi.” 


IN  WHICH  ME.  ERWIN  SEES  PARIS  515 


“ All  the  more  representative,”  she  said.  “You  seem 
to  have  taken  possession  of  Paris,  Peter  — not  Paris  of 
you.  You  have  annexed  the  seat  of  the  Capets,  and 
brought  democracy  at  last  into  the  Faubourg.” 

“ Without  a Reign  of  Terror,”  he  added  quizzically. 

“ If  you  are  not  ambassador,  what  are  you?  ” she  asked. 
“ I have  expected  at  any  moment  to  read  in  the  Figaro 
that  you  were  President  of  the  United  States.” 

“ I am  the  American  tourist,”  he  declared,  “ with 
Baedeker  for  my  Bible,  who  desires  to  be  shown  everything. 
And  I have  already  discovered  that  the  legend  of  the 
fabulous  wealth  of  the  Indies  is  still  in  force  here.  There 
are  many  who  are  willing  to  believe  that  in  spite  of  my 
modest  appearance  — maybe  because  of  it  — I have  sailed 
over  in  a galleon  filled  with  gold.  Already  I have  been 
approached  from  every  side  by  confidential  gentlemen  who 
announced  that  they  spoke  English  — one  of  them  said 
‘ American  ’ — who  have  offered  to  show  me  many  things, 
and  who  have  betrayed  enough  interest  in  me  to  inquire 
whether  I were  married  or  single.” 

Honora  laughed.  They  were  seated  in  the  balcony  by 
this  time,  and  he  had  the  volume  of  memoirs  on  his  knee, 
fingering  it  idly. 

“ What  did  you  say  to  them  ? ” she  asked. 

“ I told  them  I was  the  proud  father  of  ten  children,”  he 
replied.  “ That  seemed  to  stagger  them,  but  only  for  a 
moment.  They  offered  to  take  us  all  to  the  Louvre.” 

“ Peter,  you  are  ridiculous  ! But,  in  spite  of  your  nation- 
ality, you  don’t  look  exactly  gullible.” 

“ That  is  a relief,”  he  said.  “ I had  begun  to  think  I 
ought  to  leave  my  address  and  my  watch  with  the  Consul 
General.  . . .” 

Of  such  a nature  was  the  first  insidious  rupture  of  that 
routine  she  had  grown  to  look  upon  as  changeless  for  the 
years  to  come,  of  the  life  she  had  chosen  for  its  very  im- 
mutable quality.  Even  its  pangs  of  loneliness  had  acquired 
a certain  sweet  taste.  Partly  from  a fear  of  a world  that 
had  hurt  her,  partly  from  fear  of  herself,  she  had  made  her 
burrow  deep,  that  heat  and  cold,  the  changing  seasons,  and 


516 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


love  and  hate  might  be  things  far  removed.  She  had 
sought  to  remove  comparisons,  too,  from  the  limits  of  her 
vision;  to  cherish  and  keep  alive,  indeed,  such  regrets  as 
she  had,  but  to  make  no  new  ones. 

Often  had  she  thought  of  Peter  Erwin,  and  it  is  not  too 
much  to  say  that  he  had  insensibly  grown  into  an  ideal. 
He  had  come  to  represent  to  her  the  great  thing  she  had 
missed  in  life,  missed  by  feverish  searching  in  the  wrong 
places,  digging  for  gold  where  the  ground  had  glittered. 
And,  if  the  choice  had  been  given  her,  she  would  have 
preferred  his  spiritual  to  his  bodily  companionship  — for  a 
while,  at  least.  Some  day,  when  she  should  feel  sure  that 
desire  had  ceased  to  throb,  when  she  should  have  acquired 
an  unshakable  and  absolute  resignation,  she  would  see  him. 
It  is  not  too  much  to  say,  if  her  feeling  be  not  misconstrued 
and  stretched  far  beyond  her  own  conception  of  it,  that  he 
was  her  one  remaining  interest  in  the  world.  She  had 
scanned  the  letters  of  her  aunt  and  uncle  for  knowledge  of 
his  doings,  and  had  felt  her  curiosity  justified  by  a certain 
proprietorship  that  she  did  not  define.  Faith  in  human- 
kind, or  the  lack  of  it,  usually  makes  itself  felt  through 
one’s  comparative  contemporaries.  That  her  uncle  was  a 
good  man,  for  instance,  had  no  such  effect  upon  Honora  as 
the  fact  that  Peter  was  a good  man.  And  that  he  had 
held  a true  course  had  gradually  become  a very  vital  thing 
to  her,  perhaps  the  most  vital  thing;  and  she  could  have 
imagined  no  greater  personal  calamity  now  than  to  have 
seen  him  inconsistent.  For  there  are  such  men,  and  most 
people  have  known  them.  They  are  the  men  who,  un- 
consciously, keep  life  sweet. 

Yet  she  was  sorry  he  had  invaded  her  hiding-place. 
She  had  not  yet  achieved  peace,  and  much  of  the  weary 
task  would  have  to  be  done  over  after  he  was  gone. 

In  the  meantime  she  drifted  with  astounding  ease  into 
another  existence.  For  it  was  she,  and  not  the  confidential 
gentlemen,  who  showed  Peter  Paris : not  the  careless, 
pleasure-loving  Paris  of  the  restaurants,  but  of  the  Cluny 
and  the  Carnavalet.  The  Louvre  even  was  not  neglected, 
and  as  they  entered  it  first  she  recalled  with  still  unaccus- 


IN  WHICH  MR.  ERWIN  SEES  PARIS  517 


tomed  laughter  his  reply  to  the  proffered  services  of  the 
guide.  Indeed,  there  was  much  laughter  in  their  excur- 
sions : his  native  humour  sprang  from  the  same  well  that 
held  his  seriousness.  She  was  amazed  at  his  ability  to 
strip  a sham  and  leave  it  grotesquely  naked  ; shams  the 
risible  aspect  of  which  she  had  never  observed  in  spite  of 
the  familiarity  four  years  had  given  her.  Some  of  his  own 
countrymen  and  countrywomen  afforded  him  the  greatest 
amusement  in  their  efforts  to  carry  off  acquired  European 
“personalities,”  — combinations  of  assumed  indifference  and 
effrontery,  and  an  accent  the  like  of  which  was  never  heard 
before.  But  he  was  neither  bitter  nor  crude  in  his  criti- 
cisms. He  made  her  laugh,  but  he  never  made  her  ashamed. 
His  chief  faculty  seemed  to  be  to  give  her  the  power  to 
behold,  with  astonishing  clearness,  objects  and  truths  which 
had  lain  before  her  eyes,  and  yet  hidden.  And  she  had 
not  thought  to  acquire  any  more  truths. 

The  depth  of  his  pleasure  in  the  things  he  saw  was  like- 
wise a revelation  to  her.  She  was  by  no  means  a bad 
guide  to  the  Louvre  and  the  Luxembourg,  but  the  light  in 
her  which  had  come  slowly  flooded  him  with  radiance  at 
the  sight  of  a statue  or  a picture.  He  would  stop  with 
an  exclamation  and  stand  gazing,  self-forgetful,  for  in- 
credible periods,  and  she  would  watch  him,  filled  with  a 
curious  sense  of  the  limitations  of  an  appreciation  she  had 
thought  complete.  Where  during  his  busy  life  had  he 
got  this  thing  which  others  had  sought  in  many  voyages 
in  vain  ? 

Other  excursions  they  made,  and  sometimes  these  ab- 
sorbed a day.  It  was  a wonderful  month,  that  Parisian 
September,  which  Honora,  when  she  allowed  herself  to 
think,  felt  that  she  had  no  right  to.  A month  filled  to 
the  brim  with  colour:  the  stone  fagades  of  the  houses, 
which  in  certain  lights  were  what  the  French  so  aptly  call 
bleuatre  ; the  dense  green  foliage  of  the  horse-chestnut 
trees,  the  fantastic  iron  grills,  the  Arc  de  Triomphe  in  the 
centre  of  its  circle  at  sunset,  the  wide  shaded  avenues  radi- 
ating from  it,  the  bewildering  Champs  Elysees,  the  blue 
waters  of  the  Seine  and  the  graceful  bridges  spanning  it, 


518 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


Notre  Dame  against  the  sky.  Their  walks  took  them,  too, 
into  quainter,  forgotten  regions  where  history  was  grim  and 
half-effaced,  and  they  speculated  on  the  France  of  other 
days. 

They  went  farther  afield,  and  it  was  given  them  to  walk 
together  down  green  vistas  cut  for  kings,  to  linger  on 
terraces  with  the  river  far  below  them,  and  the  roofs  of  Paris 
in  the  hazy  distance ; that  Paris,  sullen  so  long,  the  mut- 
terings  of  which  the  kings  who  had  sat  there  must  have 
heard  with  dread;  that  Paris  which  had  finalty  risen  in  its 
wrath  and  taken  the  pleasure-houses  and  the  parks  for 
itself. 

Once  they  went  out  to  Chantilly,  the  cameo-like  chateau 
that  stands  mirrored  in  its  waters,  and  wandered  through 
the  alleys  there.  Honora  had  left  her  parasol  on  the  para- 
pet, and  as  they  returned  Peter  went  to  get  it,  while  she 
awaited  him  at  a little  distance.  A group  was  chatting 
gayly  on  the  lawn,  and  one  of  them,  a middle-aged,  well- 
dressed  man  hailed  him  with  an  air  of  fellowship,  and 
Peter  stopped  for  a moment’s  talk. 

“ We  were  speaking  of  ambassadors  the  other  day,”  he 
said  when  he  joined  her;  “that  was  our  own,  Minturn.” 

“We  were  speaking  of  them  nearly  a month  ago,”  she 
said. 

“ A month  ago ! I can’t  believe  it ! ” he  exclaimed. 

“What  did  he  say  to  you?”  Honora  inquired  presently. 

“ He  was  abusing  me  for  not  letting  him  know  I was  in 
Paris.” 

“ Peter,  you  ought  to  have  let  him  know ! ” 

“ I didn’t  come  over  here  to  see  the  ambassador,”  answered 
Peter,  gayly. 

She  talked  less  than  usual  on  their  drive  homeward,  but 
he  did  not  seem  to  notice  the  fact.  Dusk  was  already 
lurking  in  the  courtyards  and  byways  of  the  quiet  quarter 
when  the  porter  let  them  in,  and  the  stone  stairway  of  the 
old  hotel  was  almost  in  darkness.  The  sitting-room,  with 
its  yellow  hangings  snugly  drawn  and  its  pervading  but 
soft  light,  was  a grateful  change.  And  while  she  was 
gone  to  remove  her  veil  and  hat,  Peter  looked  around  it. 


IN  WHICH  MR.  ERWIN  SEES  PARIS  519 


It  was  redolent  of  her.  A high  vase  of  remarkable  beauty, 
filled  with  white  roses,  stood  on  the  gueridon.  He  went 
forward  and  touched  it,  and  closed  his  eyes  as  though  in 
pain.  When  he  opened  them  he  saw  her  standing  in  the 
archway. 

She  had  taken  off  her  coat,  and  was  in  a simple  white 
muslin  gown,  with  a black  belt  — a costume  that  had  be- 
come habitual.  Her  age  was  thirty.  The  tragedy  and 
the  gravity  of  her  life  during  these  later  years  had  touched 
her  with  something  that  before  was  lacking.  In  the  street, 
in  the  galleries,  people  had  turned  to  look  at  her ; not  with 
impudent  stares.  She  caught  attention,  aroused  imagina- 
tion. Once,  the  year  before,  she  had  had  a strange  ex- 
perience with  a well-known  painter,  who,  in  an  impulsive 
note,  had  admitted  following  her  home  and  bribing  the 
concierge.  He  craved  a few  sittings.  Her  expression 
now,  as  she  looked  at  Peter,  was  graver  than  usual. 

“ You  must  not  come  to-morrow,”  she  said. 

“ I thought  we  were  going  to  Versailles  again,”  he  replied 
in  surprise.  “ I have  made  the  arrangements.” 

“I  have  changed  my  mind.  I’m  not  going.” 

“You  want  to  postpone  it?”  he  asked. 

She  took  a chair  beside  the  little  blaze  in  the  fireplace. 
“ Sit  down,  Peter.  I wish  to  say  something  to  you.  I 
have  been  wishing  to  do  so  for  some  time.” 

“Do  you  object  if  I stand  a moment?”  he  said.  “I 
feel  so  much  more  comfortable  standing,  especially  when 
I am  going  to  be  scolded.” 

“Yes,”  she  admitted,  “I  am  going  to  scold  you.  Your 
conscience  has  warned  you.” 

“ On  the  contrary,”  he  declared,  “ it  has  never  been 
quieter.  If  I have  offended,  it  is  through  ignorance.” 

“It  is  through  charity,  as  usual,”  she  said  in  a low  voice. 
“ If  your  conscience  be  quiet,  mine  is  not.  It  is  in  myself 
that  I am  disappointed  — I have  been  very  selfish.  I have 
usurped  you.  I have  known  it  all  along,  and  I have  done 
very  wrong  in  not  relinquishing  you  before.” 

“ Who  would  have  shown  me  Paris  ? ” he  exclaimed. 
“No,”  she  continued,  “you  would  not  have  been  alone. 
If  I had  needed  proof  of  that  fact,  I had  it  to-day  — ” 


520 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


“Oh,  Minturn,”  he  interrupted;  “think  of  me  hanging 
about  an  Embassy  and  trying  not  to  spill  tea ! ” And  he 
smiled  at  the  image  that  presented. 

Her  own  smile  was  fleeting. 

“ You  would  never  do  that,  I know,”  she  said  gravely. 
“You  are  still  too  modest,  Peter,  but  the  time  has  gone 
by  when  I can  be  easily  deceived.  You  have  a great  repu- 
tation among  men  of  affairs,  an  unique  one.  In  spite 
of  the  fact  that  you  are  distinctly  American,  you  have  a 
wide  interest  in  what  is  going  on  in  the  world.  And  you 
have  an  opportunity  here  to  meet  people  of  note,  people 
really  worth  while  from  every  point  of  view.  You  have 
no  right  to  neglect  it.” 

He  was  silent  a moment,  looking  down  at  her.  She  was 
leaning  forward,  her  eyes  fixed  on  the  fire,  her  hands 
clasped  between  her  knees. 

“Do  you  think  I care  for  that?”  he  asked. 

“You  ought  to  care,”  she  said,  without  looking  up. 
“ And  it  is  my  duty  to  try  to  make  you  care.” 

“ Honora,  why  do  you  think  I came  over  here  ? ” he  said. 
“ To  see  Paris,”  she  answered.  “ I have  your  own  word 
for  it.  To  — to  continue  your  education.  It  never  seems 
to  stop.” 

“ Did  you  really  believe  that  ? ” 

“ Of  course  I believed  it.  What  could  be  more  natural  ? 
And  you  have  never  had  a holiday  like  this.” 

“No,”  he  agreed.  “I  admit  that.” 

“ I don’t  know  how  much  longer  you  are  going  to  stay,” 
she  said.  “You  have  not  been  abroad  before,  and  there 
are  other  places  you  ought  to  go.” 

“I’ll  get  you  to  make  out  an  itinerary.” 

“ Peter,  can’t  you  see  that  I’m  serious  ? I have  decided 
to  take  matters  in  my  own  hands.  The  rest  of  the  time 
you  are  here,  you  may  come  to  see  me  twice  a week.  I 
shall  instruct  the  concierge.” 

He  turned  and  grasped  the  mantel  shelf  with  both  hands, 
and  touched  the  log  with  the  toe  of  his  boot. 

“ What  I told  you  about  seeing  Paris  may  be  called 
polite  fiction,”  he  said.  “ I came  over  here  to  see  you.  I 


He  turned  slowly  and  looked  at  the  shadows  in  her  face 


522 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


have  been  afraid  to  say  it  until  to-day,  and  I am  afraid 
to  say  it  now.” 

She  sat  very  still.  The  log  flared  up  again,  and  he 
turned  slowly  and  looked  at  the  shadows  in  her  face. 

“You  — you  have  always  been  good  to  me,”  she  an- 
swered. “I  have  never  deserved  it  — I have  never  under- 
stood it.  If  it  is  any  satisfaction  for  you  to  know  that 
what  I have  saved  of  myself  I owe  to  you,  I tell  you  so 
freely.” 

“That,”  he  said,  “is  something  for  which  God  forbid 
that  I should  take  credit.  What  you  are  is  due  to  the  de- 
velopment of  a germ  within  you,  a development  in  which 
I have  always  had  faith.  I came  here  to  see  you,  I came 
here  because  I love  you,  because  I have  always  loved  you, 
Hon  ora.” 

“ Oh,  no,  not  that ! ” she  cried;  “ not  that ! ” 

“ Why  not  ? ” he  asked.  “ It  is  something  I cannot  help, 
something  beyond  my  power  to  prevent  if  I would.  But 
I would  not.  I am  proud  of  it,  and  I should  be  lost  with- 
out it.  I have  had  it  always.  I have  come  over  to  beg 
you  to  marry  me.” 

“ It’s  impossible  ! Can’t  you  see  it’s  impossible  ? ” 

“You  don’t  love  me?”  he  said.  Into  those  few  words 
was  thrown  all  the  suffering  of  his  silent  years. 

“I  don’t  know  what  I feel  for  you,”  she  answered  in  an 
agonized  voice,  her  fingers  tightening  over  the  backs  of  her 
white  hands.  “If  reverence  be  love  — if  trust  be  love, 
infinite  and  absolute  trust  — if  gratitude  be  love  — if  empti- 
ness after  you  are  gone  be  a sign  of  it  — yes,  I love  you. 
If  the  power  to  see  clearly  only  through  you,  to  interpret 
myself  only  by  your  aid  be  love,  1 acknowledge  it.  I tell 
you  so  freely,  as  of  }~our  right  to  know.  And  the  germ  of 
which  you  spoke  is  you.  You  have  grown  until  you  have 
taken  possession  of  — of  what  is  left  of  me.  If  I had  only 
been  able  to  see  clearly  from  the  first,  Peter,  I should  be 
another  woman  to-day,  a whole  woman,  a wise  woman. 
Oh,  I have  thought  of  it  much.  The  secret  of  life  was 
there  at  my  side  from  the  time  I was  able  to  pronounce 
your  name,  and  I couldn’t  see  it.  You  had  it.  You 


IN  WHICH  MR.  ERWIN  SEES  PARIS  523 


stayed.  You  took  duty  where  you  found  it,  and  it  has 
made  you  great.  Oh,  I don’t  mean  to  speak  in  a worldly 
sense.  When  I say  that,  it  is  to  express  the  highesthuman 
quality  of  which  I can  think  and  feel.  But  I can’t  marry 
you.  You  must  see  it.” 

“ I cannot  see  it,”  he  replied,  when  he  had  somewhat 
gained  control  of  himself. 

“Because  I should  be  wronging  you.” 

“ How?  ” he  asked. 

“In  the  first  place,  I should  be  ruining  your  career.” 

“ If  I had  a career,”  he  said,  smiling  gently,  “you  couldn’t 
ruin  it.  You  both  overestimate  and  underestimate  the 
world’s  opinion,  Honora.  As  my  wife,  it  will  not  treat  you 
cruelly.  And  as  for  my  career,  as  you  call  it,  it  has  merely 
consisted  in  doing  as  best  I could  the  work  that  has  come 
to  me.  I have  tried  to  serve  well  those  who  have  employed 
me,  and  if  my  services  be  of  value  to  them,  and  to  those 
who  may  need  me  in  the  future,  they  are  not  going  to 
reject  me.  If  I have  any  worth  in  the  world,  you  will 
but  add  to  it.  Without  you  I am  incomplete.” 

She  looked  up  at  him  wonderingly. 

“Yes,  you  are  great,”  she  said.  “You  pity  me,  you 
think  of  my  loneliness.” 

“ It  is  true  I cannot  bear  to  picture  you  here,”  he  ex- 
claimed. “ The  thought  tortures  me,  but  it  is  because  I 
love  you,  because  I wish  to  take  and  shield  you.  I am 
not  a man  to  marry  a woman  without  love.  It  seems  to 
me  that  you  should  know  me  well  enough  to  believe  that, 
Honora.  There  never  has  been  any  other  woman  in  my 
life,  and  there  never  can  be.  I have  given  you  proof  of  it, 
God  knows.” 

“ I am  not  what  I was,”  she  said,  “ I am  not  what  I was. 
I have  been  dragged  down.” 

Pie  bent  and  lifted  her  hand  from  her  knee,  and  raised 
it  to  his  lips,  a homage  from  him  that  gave  her  an  exquisite 
pain. 

“ If  you  had  been  dragged  down,”  he  answered  simply, 
“ my  love  would  have  been  killed.  I know  something  of 
the  horrors  you  have  been  through,  as  though  I had  suf- 


524 


A MODERN  CHRONICLE 


fered  them  myself.  They  might  have  dragged  down  an- 
other woman,  Honora.  But  they  have  strangely  ennobled 
you.” 

She  drew  her  hand  away. 

“No,”  she  said,  “I  do  not  deserve  happiness.  It  cannot 
be  my  destiny.” 

“ Destiny,”  he  repeated.  “ Destiny  is  a thing  not 
understandable  by  finite  minds.  It  is  not  necessarily  con- 
tinued tragedy  and  waste,  of  that  I am  certain.  Only  a 
little  thought  is  required,  it  seems  to  me,  to  assure  us  that 
we  cannot  be  the  judges  of  our  own  punishment  on  this 
earth.  And  of  another  world  we  know  nothing.  It  can- 
not be  any  one’s  destiny  to  throw  away  a life  while  still 
something  may  be  made  of  it.  You  would  be  throwing  your 
life  away  here.  That  no  other  woman  is  possible,  or  ever 
can  be  possible,  for  me  should  be  a consideration  with  you, 
Honora.  What  I ask  of  you  is  a sacrifice  — will  you  make 
me  happy  ? ” 

Her  eyes  filled  with  tears. 

“Oh,  Peter,  do  you  care  so  much  as  that?  If  — if  I 
could  be  sure  that  I were  doing  it  for  you  ! If  in  spite  of 
— of  all  that  has  happened  to  me,  I could  be  doing  some- 
thing for  you  — ! ” 

He  stooped  and  kissed  her. 

“ You  can  if  you  will,”  he  said. 


MR.  WINSTON  CHURCHILL’S  NOVELS 

Each , cloth , gilt  top  and  titles , #1.50 

Mr.  Crewe’s  Career  Illustrated 

“ One  of  the  best  stories  of  American  life  ever  written.  ...  It  is  written 
out  of  sympathy  that  goes  deep.  . . . We  go  on  to  the  end  with  grow- 
ing appreciation.  ...  It  is  good  to  have  such  a book.”  — New  York 
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The  Celebrity.  An  Episode 

“ No  such  piece  of  inimitable  comedy  in  a literary  way  has  appeared  for 
years.  ...  It  is  the  purest,  keenest  fun.” — Chicago  Inter-Ocean. 

Richard  Carvel  illustrated 

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and  rare  wholesomeness  of  spirit,  it  has  seldom,  if  ever,  been  surpassed  by 
an  American  romance.” — Chicago  Tribune. 

The  Crossing  Illustrated 

“ The  Crossing  is  a thoroughly  interesting  book,  packed  with  exciting 
adventure  and  sentimental  incident,  yet  faithful  to  historical  fact  both  in 
detail  and  in  spirit.” — ■ The  Dial. 

The  Crisis  Illustrated 

“ It  is  a charming  love  story,  and  never  loses  its  interest.  . . . The  in- 
tense political  bitterness,  the  intense  patriotism  of  both  parties,  are  shown 
understanding^.”  — Evening  Telegraph , Philadelphia. 

Coni  St  OH  Illustrated 

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Mr.  Churchill  has  ever  achieved  before.  ...  It  is  one  of  the  truest  and 
finest  transcripts  of  modern  American  life  thus  far  achieved  in  our 
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A Modern  Chronicle  Illustrated 


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WILLIAM  ALLEN  WHITE’S 

A Certain  Rich  Man  cm,  so 

“ Mr.  White  has  written  a big  and  satisfying  book  made  up  of  the  ele- 
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ambitions,  crimes,  sacrifices  — revealed  to  us  with  peculiar  freshness  and 
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people  who  fill  his  four  hundred  odd  pages.  ...  It  deserves  a high 
place  among  the  novels  that  deal  with  American  life.  No  recent  Ameri- 
can novel  save  one  has  sought  to  cover  so  broad  a canvas,  or  has  created 
so  strong  an  impression  of  ambition  and  of  sincerity.”  — Chicago  Erf g Post. 

CHARLES  MAJOR’S 

A Gentle  Knight  of  Old  Brandenburg 

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Mr.  Major  has  selected  a period  to  the  romance  of  which  other  historical 
novelists  have  been  singularly  blind.  The  boyhood  of  Frederick  the 
Great  and  the  strange  wooing  of  his  charming  sister  Wilhelmina  have 
afforded  a theme,  rich  in  its  revelation  of  human  nature  and  full  of 
romantic  situations. 

MABEL  OSGOOD  WRIGHT’S 

Poppea  of  the  Post  Office  Cloth,  i2mo,  $1.50 

By  the  author  of  The  Garden  of  a Commuted  s Wife 
“ A rainbow  romance,  . . . tender  yet  bracing,  cheerily  stimulating  . . . 
its  genial  entirety  refreshes  like  a cooling  shower.”  — Chicago  Record- 
Herald. 

“ There  cannot  be  too  many  of  these  books  by  * Barbara/  Mrs.  Wright 
knows  good  American  stock  through  and  through  and  presents  it  with 
effective  simplicity.”  — Boston  Advertiser. 

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us  it  is  quite  sufficiently  identified  by  its  resemblance  to  a place  we  like 
to  remember  under  the  name  of  ‘ Our  Home  Town.’  Its  cruder  outlines 
a little  softened,  yet  not  completely  disguised,  the  faces  a bit  idealized 
but  none  the  worse  likenesses  for  that  — thus  and  in  no  other  fashion 
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F.  MARION  CRAWFORD’S 


Stradella 


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remained  in  favor.  There  are  two  reasons  for  this  continued  popularity; 
he  always  had  a story  to  tell,  and  he  knew  how  to  tell  it.  He  was  a born 
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“ Mr.  Crawford  tells  his  love  story  with  plenty  of  that  dramatic  instinct 
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amused.”  — New  York  Tribune. 

“ Good  stirring  romance,  simple  and  poignant.”  — Chicago  Record-Herald. 
“His  people  are  always  vividly  real,  invariably  individual.”  — Boston 
Transcript. 

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one  scarcely  realizes  whether  it  is  put  into  words  or  not.”  — Book7nan. 

“ It  is  a masterpiece  . . . the  most  carefully  wrought  out  of  all  his  work.” 


A Brood  of  the  Eagle 


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ROBERT  HERRICK’S 

Together  Cloth , i27no.  Si. jo 

“ An  able  book,  remarkably  so,  and  one  which  should  find  a place  in  the 
library  of  any  woman  who  is  not  a fool.” — Editorial  in  the  New  York 
Ar7ierican. 


A Life  for  a Life 


In  preparation 


Mr.  W.  D.  Howells  says  in  the  North  ATnerican  Review : “What  I 
should  finally  say  of  his  work  is  that  it  is  more  broadly  based  than  that 
of  any  other  American  novelist  of  his  generation.  . . . Mr.  Herrick’s 
fiction  is  a force  for  the  higher  civilization,  which,  to  be  widely  felt,  needs 
only  to  be  widely  known.” 


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JACK  LONDON’S 

Martin  Eden 

By  the  author  of  The  Call  of  the  Wild 
The  stirring  story  of  a man  who  rises  by  force  of  sheer  ability  and  per- 
severance from  the  humblest  beginning  to  a position  of  fame  and  influ- 
ence. The  elemental  strength,  the  vigor  and  determination,  of  Martin 
Eden  make  him  the  most  interesting  character  that  Mr.  London  has  ever 
created.  “It  is,”  writes  the  critic  of  the  Chicago  Inter- Ocean,  “a  forci- 
ble, fearless,  forthright  book,  spilling  over  with  vitality.” 

E.  B.  DEWING’S 

Other  People’s  Houses  cioth,i2mo,$r.s° 

“‘Other  People’s  Houses’  possesses  that  distinction  of  style  in  which 
most  of  our  current  American  fiction  is  so  lamentably  deficient,  and  it  has 
in  addition  the  advantage  of  a theme  which  is  a grateful  relief  from  the 
usual  saccharine  love  story  admittedly  designed  to  suit  the  caramel  age. 
. . . Miss  Dewing  has  a fine  feeling  for  comedy  and  gives  evidence  of 
both  genuine  talent  and  a fresh  and  vivid  outlook  upon  life.”  — New  York 
Times. 

GERTRUDE  ATHERTON’S 

T ower  of  Ivory  cloth » i2mo>  fas0 

The  scene  of  this  new  novel  by  the  author  of  The  Conqueror , The 
Splendid  Idle  Forties , etc.,  is  laid  partly  in  Munich,  partly  in  London, 
and  partly  in  English  country  houses.  The  hero  is  a young  Englishman, 
representing  a type  which  has  never  before  been  studied  in  any  novel  of 
importance,  but  the  actual  existence  of  which  will  not  be  questioned  by 
those  who  know  English  life  well.  The  heroine  is  an  American  girl  who 
becomes  a prima  donna,  the  greatest  dramatic  singer  of  her  time. 
Among  the  subsidiary  characters  are  Americans,  English,  Germans,  Rus- 
sians, and  Italians.  As  a story  of  modern  life  and  character,  Tower  of 
Ivory  will  more  than  sustain  the  high  reputation  earned  by  Mrs.  Ather- 
ton’s previous  books. 

MARY  S.  WATTS’S 

Nathan  Burke  cm,  12mo.tr. 30 

Nathan  Burke  starts  life  as  an  untaught  backwoodsman,  and  Mrs.  Watts 
follows  his  career  as  he  grows  with  the  growth  of  the  new  country.  The 
scene  of  the  story  is  laid  in  Ohio  and  the  period  is  that  great  age  of  ex- 
pansion just  before  the  Civil  War.  The  treatment  is  in  style  somewhat  of 
a return  to  Thackeray  and  the  great  age  of  English  fiction. 


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